The Jealous Suitor
by Arwen Tinuviel
Summary: COMPLETE: Runaway Abigail Jackson buys a place on the Black Pearl in pursuit of freedom. She gets more than she bargained for from a certain roguishly handsome pirate. Unbeknowst to her, she is being followed.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is Arwen Tinuviel, and some of you may know me as the author of "The Peacemaker," my only other story on this site. Well, as of July 9th this summer, I've become just a wee bit obsessed with Johnny Depp. I fought the urge as long as I could, but eventually I found myself writing yet another fanfic. So here it is, I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. Please read and review!

Prologue

            The floor was slick with sweat, booze and grime. The entire place reeked of rum. A fist swung wildly through the air as one staggering drunkard tried to hit another, forcing me to duck out of the way quickly to avoid being struck myself. I picked my way carefully around sleeping bodies and empty tankards, trying not to step in the puddles of filth that seemed to seep out of the floor itself. I straightened my knapsack on my shoulder and wondered how I had managed to get myself into this predicament.

            It was my uncle's fault really. My Uncle Roland, the one who had begrudgingly looked after me since my real parents died, had been my only family for the past twelve years. When I was eight, my mother and father had been killed in one of those freakish, almost comically impossibly-sounding accidents that no one who wasn't involved really believes: One night they had been invited to a dinner party at an obnoxiously posh mansion, along with several hundred others. One of the female guests was wearing a very elaborate hairstyle – one that reportedly didn't suit her nearly as well as she seemed to think it did. Another guest was smoking a cigarette through a long-stemmed pipe which she held out at odd angles throughout the night. Now, at one point both the hair-do and the long-stemmed cigarette were situated near a tall French window dressed with heavy velvet curtains. Somehow the two made contact, and at first the hair-do merely smoldered a bit, but it soon caught fire. When she realized what was happening, the poor woman beneath it began shrieking like a banshee and flailing her arms around and batting at her head in a desperate attempt to put the fire out. In her hysteria, she backed up against the window dressings, and then the flames licked out and caught the velvet curtains. At the same time as all this was happening, the cigarette woman got such a shock that she jumped back, causing her cigarette to fall from its long-stemmed pipe to the carpeted floor. The fire raced up the curtains and through the halls by way of the carpet, causing guests to leap out of its way and make for the door as quickly as they could, dropping their champagne glasses as they went. The champagne, of course, only helped the fire on its way. And on it went, spreading and spreading until the palatial mansion had burnt to the ground. Some of the guests were unable to escape in time, my parents among them. The only reason I escaped is that I wasn't there to begin with: I hadn't been allowed to go the party because I was too young. So afterwards I was sentenced to live under the care of Uncle Roland for the remainder of my youth.

            Roland was a grouchy, asocial old man who had never married or had children because he was too selfish to be bothered looking after anyone other than himself. He resented me for invading his privacy, and I resented him for not being anything like the parents I wished were still with me. We hated each other equally, and so we got on splendidly. The minute I turned sixteen, he began badgering me to find a suitor so I could marry and move out. I would've been all too happy to oblige him – my leaving would do us both a favor – but none of my would-be fiancés were good enough for me. It may seem presumptuous for me to put it that way, but it's true: Every last one of them was either oafishly stupid, hopelessly shy or more interested in himself than in me. I put up with these useless suitors for four long years, and when no Prince Charming appeared among the throngs of toads I resolved to take matters into my own hands. One night in late October of the fourth year, I packed everything I deemed valuable, along with clothes, money and a small store of food, into my knapsack and walked out into the chilly autumn air. I didn't bother telling Roland goodbye, or even leaving a note saying what I'd done. It plagues my conscience sometimes, but I'm fairly sure he didn't miss me much. I didn't look back.

            Somewhere along the sixth road I crossed I realized I had no idea where I was going. I kept walking to keep my joints from going stiff from the cold, and then pulled a flimsy idea together and hatched a plan: I would head west to America, to seek my fortune as so many others had done. It sounded crazy inside my head, but terrifically exciting. First, I would need a way to get there, and that meant a sailing ship and someone to sail it. I wasn't interested in buying my own ship – I hadn't nearly enough money anyway – but I could surely buy myself a place on a ship that was heading in the direction I needed. There were several taverns on the oceanfront that were rumoured haunts for sailors, and a few that were specific to world travelers. I glanced up at the night sky, found the North Star and headed towards the place I thought would suit my needs. And so I found myself in that slovenly tavern, ducking the misguided swing of a drunken brawler, and suddenly unsure that I had made a wise decision.

            I shifted my knapsack on my shoulder and made for a cluster of tables towards the back of the tavern, hoping to find some dark corner in which to hide myself for a while.


	2. Runaway

Chapter 1: Runaway

            "Not hidin' anythin' of importance in that sack, are ye?"

            The low, gravelly voice came from somewhere ahead of me, hidden in the darkness. I peered into the shadows and saw a pair of dark eyes glinting out at me from the same corner I had hoped to hide in myself.

            "Sorry?" I asked, both grateful for the distraction and suspicious of the mysterious stranger.

            He leaned forward and I saw that his dark eyes were bloodshot and his face grizzled with several days' growth of beard. His clothes were stained and dirty and a half-empty bottle of something rested on his left knee, held there precariously by a greasy hand.

            "I said," he repeated gruffly, "I hope ye don' have anythin' important in that sack."

            "Why's that?" I asked warily.

            "Because," he cackled gruesomely, "If ye do, then this is hardly the place for it."

            He grinned widely, revealing a jagged row of rotting teeth, and his weathered face seemed to crack open from the effort. My hand tightened on my shoulder strap and I found myself backing away almost subconsciously.

            "This is a favourite stop for beggars, thieves and," he grinned even wider, "Pirates."

            He let out another horrible cackle and I felt a cold shiver rip through my body; I wasn't used to being afraid, and I didn't like it. I scowled at the dirty stranger and turned away from him. I headed for the bar with a different plan in mind: maybe the bartender would know of a ship that could take me to America.

            "Excuse me?" I called softly.

            The squat, balding mad behind the counter appeared not to have heard me. I squeezed closer to the bar, trying not to notice the cold stares of other patrons, and tried again.

            "Excuse me?" I called, louder this time.

            His beady eyes came to rest on me with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. He leaned over the bar and frowned down at me.

            "What is it?" he asked irritably.

            "I need a ship," I said.

            "You need a ship?" he snorted.

            "Yes, that's right," I insisted.

            "Well, yer in the wrong place, Miss. This en't a docking bay – what's it look like?"

            "I'm sorry, sir, but I thought that maybe you knew someone that could—"

            "I don't know a soul that can do anythin'. Even if I did, ye'd be hard pressed to get it outta me."

            "Please, sir, if you could just tell me where I could find a good sailor, or even someone that knows of one. . ."

            I let my voice trail off as he shook his head at me and turned to another customer.

            "I just need a fast ship," I muttered, half to myself, "Even a sturdy one would do. . ."

            "Fast ship?" inquired a clear, bold voice to my left, "That'd be the Black Pearl."

            I looked over and saw a black-skinned woman sitting at a low table just in front of the bar.

            "The Black Pearl?" I asked.

            "Aye," she said, "The fastest ship in the Atlantic. Sit down."

            She motioned for me to take the seat across from her. I sat down quickly, then took my knapsack off my shoulder and set it on the ground.

            "I hope you haven't got anythin' important in that bag, love," she said.

            I froze; surely not everyone in this bar was just the same as that horrible man in corner? But the woman's face seemed to indicate real concern; she wasn't threatening me.

            "So I've heard," I said, "Why is it so dangerous here?"

            "Because this tavern is a stopover for villains: thieves, fugitives, beggars and the like. You'd best keep that parcel where you can see it."

            I moved the knapsack to the top of the table.

            "And pirates?" I asked hesitantly.

            A flicker of . . . something passed across the woman's face, and again I was suspicious. But the moment passed quickly, and I soon convinced myself that I'd imagined it.

            "Aye," she said, "Pirates too. So you need a fast ship, eh?"

            "Yes, if I can find one."

            "Where are ye headed in such a vessel?"

            "To America, if I can manage it; I'm seeking my fortune."

            The woman laughed brightly; her white teeth stood out brilliantly against her black skin. The sound rang out like a bell in the dingy atmosphere.

            "Are ye now?" she asked, "And you think your fortune lies in the West, do ye?"

            I frowned. Was she making fun of me?

            "Well it doesn't lie here," I said coldly, "Can you take me to the Black Pearl or not?"

            Her smile faded.

            "I can," she said, "I am one of its crew. But I en't makin' any promises – it's not for me to decide who comes aboard and who doesn't. One thing I can promise ye: Your boardin' will come with a price."

            "How much?"

            "It depends. What's your name, love?"

            "Abigail."

            "That all?"

            "Abigail Jackson."

            She reached across the table and shook my hand amicably.

            "Anamaria," she introduced herself.

            And then she stood up.

            "All right," she said, "Come with me, I'll take you to the Captain."

            "The Captain?" I asked, suddenly anxious.

            "Aye! He'll want to know if we're to have a runaway on board."

            She grinned knowingly and led the way out of the tavern. I shouldered my knapsack and followed her, feeling inexplicably confused and frightened. It took me a few seconds to register what she'd said, but when I did I stopped in my tracks.

            "I never told you I was running away," I said.

            She turned, silhouetted in the doorway, and waited for me to continue.

            "I said I was seeking my fortune," I told her.

            She moved back towards me and glanced down at my right hand. I looked down and saw the gold ring I always wore. It was very delicately crafted with a tiny, bright diamond embedded into the band. It had belonged to my mother. I suddenly realized that such a decoration would no doubt stand out in this dingy setting, as would the obviously aristocratic traveling cloak I was wearing. Anamaria smiled at my realization.

            "You already have a fortune, lass," she said simply, and then turned and left the tavern.

            This time I followed her silently.


	3. The Black Pearl

Author's Note: Oh, I'm so glad you all seem to be enjoying this! I hope it's not too cliché – I promise I'm not intentionally taking any of this from stories I've read before. Apart from the characters and ideas from "Pirates of the Caribbean", of course. So, without further gilding the lily, and with no more ado, here is chapter three. Please R&R!

Chapter 2: The Black Pearl

            Anamaria led me to the docks in the chilly seaside air. I saw the faint pre-dawn light starting to glow behind the buildings around us, and I realized with a jolt that I must've walked through the night. The vast, dark shape of an enormous sailing ship loomed ahead of us. It was tied at the end of the dock, and several smaller shadows were darting back and forth across the deck. A man's gruff voice called orders down from the crow's nest, sending the rest of the crew scurrying across the deck hurriedly. The sound of the shouted orders was short and halting in the still morning air. Anamaria approached the ship boldly, stopping at the gangplank.

            "Oi, Jack!" she called up to the crow's nest, "We got us a stowaway. Like to come an' have a look at her?"

            I looked up at the crow's nest expectantly; I could just make out the dim form of a man straightening and leaning out towards us. Then his shape moved and he slid down to the deck of the ship on a slender rope. He moved towards us and ambled down the gangway to the pier. It was lighter now; the stars were beginning to fade against the sky as it changed from black to blue. I could only just make out the figure of the man coming toward me: dark hair and beard, a sturdy coat of some sort, a leathery three-cornered hat. His dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on me, and I felt a sudden thrill of apprehension. 

            "What's this all about, Anamaria?" he asked, keeping his eyes on me.

            His voice was lazy and slurred, almost careless, but held an unmistakable air of authority. I tried my best not to falter under his cool, appraising stare.

            "Abigail Jackson," said Anamaria, "She needs a lift to America."

            "America?" asked the man, turning towards her for the first time, "We'll not be goin' that way for a long while yet."

            "I know that," said Anamaria, "But she said she needed a fast ship."

            The man gave a noncommittal grunt and set his hands on his hips, thrusting his coat aside and revealing the hilt of a sword. Again I felt a wave of unfocused fear pass over me. This was not good; here I had never been truly afraid in my life, and within the past hour it had happened no less than three times.

            "Miss Jackson, is it?" asked the man.

            "Yes," I replied, feeling suddenly bolder at being given a chance to speak, "And you are?"

            "I am Captain Jack Sparrow," he said impressively, "And this is my ship, the Black Pearl."

            "Is it a fast ship?"

            "It's the fastest ship in the Atlantic, I'll vouch for that. What exactly makes you so anxious to get to America, if I may ask?"

            "It's none of your concern, so long as you can take me there."

            "Ah, but it is, darlin'. You see, if I am to take you aboard I would very much like to know your motives in boarding. Also, I have no intention whatsoever of altering my present course for just one person. Unless," he added, glancing at my gold ring, "I am provided with generous compensation."

            I gripped the strap of my knapsack a little tighter.

            "What is your present course?" I asked cautiously.

            "We sail first to Paris," said the Captain, "And then we shall make our way south and spend the winter months in a more habitable environment. We don't sail west until the New Year, but we will find our way there in time. I suppose you might be allowed to accompany us, if you're willing to wait that long. . ."

            "I reckon it doesn't much matter where we take her," said Anamaria, "As long as it's away from here. She's runnin' away, Jack."

            The two of them looked me over carefully, and I took the opportunity to look over Captain Sparrow. The sky had lightened to a soft, indigo blue, and I could now discriminate the Captain's face more clearly. Everything about his appearance had an air of faded glory: his three-cornered hat was old and weather-beaten, and his coat was frayed and mended in several places. His face was deeply tanned and his dark hair, matted and partially dreadlocked, was decorated with strange medallions, brightly-colored beads and what looked like pieces of bone. He carried himself with an easy nonchalance, but his eyes were keen and his gaze piercing. Suddenly, Anamaria's fleeting expression at the mention of "pirates" came back to me, and another piece of the puzzle slid unmistakably into place.

            "Will you be followed?" he asked me in a low, serious voice.

            "What?"

            He sighed exasperatedly and crossed his arms.

            "If you are indeed running away," he said, making no effort to mask his annoyance at being asked to repeat himself, "It would do me and my crew no good to be hiding a fugitive, as we are all quite reluctant to give any law enforcers any more reason to chase after us. Do I make myself clear?"

            "Yes," I said, somewhat taken aback.

            "Now, will you be followed if I allow you to come aboard my ship?"

            I hadn't really considered this dilemma, but he had a point: I didn't want anyone, least of all Uncle Roland, to come after me now that I'd made up my mind about leaving my old life behind me indefinitely. So I reflected on the possibilities for a moment. A few of my old suitors had shown great disappointment after I'd turned them down, and fewer still had returned to see if I'd had a change of heart in their absence, but they were all too dim to think of hunting me down anyway. Roland, on the other hand, might feel as if his reputation was in danger if word got around that his only family member had mysteriously disappeared during the night. But he would probably just make up some excuse for me, tell them I'd hanged myself out of grief and boredom – he'd be happier with that idea anyway. And he most certainly wouldn't try to find me again.

            "I doubt it," I answered truthfully, "Listen, I can't pay you much for the voyage, but I'll work as an extra hand on-deck if you need me to."

            "You know how to sail?" asked Anamaria skeptically.

            "I can learn," I assured her, "And I won't be any trouble, I promise."

            Captain Sparrow grinned, and I saw the glint of gold teeth in his smile.

            "Very well," he said, "So be it! Anamaria, show the girl her quarters and give her something useful to do. The sooner we're off, the better."

            "Aye, Captain," she said jovially.

            Captain Sparrow turned back towards the ship.

            "And who told you lot to take a break?" he bellowed at the crew, who had stopped working to listen in on our conversation, "Back to work, all of ye! I want this ship underway by sunrise!"

            With that, the crew hurried back to their places and prepared the ship to make way. Captain Sparrow marched back up the gangplank and Anamaria led me below deck to a small, empty bunk.

            "Ye can sleep here tonight," she said, "But for now yer to follow me. Leave that sack and I'll show ye your duties. Come on!"

            I tossed my knapsack onto the bed and followed Anamaria back up to the back of the ship – the stern, she said – and tried my best to pay attention while she taught me all the names of the different ropes and what they each did. She introduced me to some of the crew, the ones that were stationed at the stern, and they took to calling me "Abby" fairly quickly.

            "What is it exactly that I'm supposed to do back here?" I asked when the lesson seemed to be over.

            "Nothing, yet," said Anamaria, "You wait here," she stood me at the very back of the ship, "And cast off this line when I tell you. Should be soon now. . ."

            She looked towards the bow, watching the Captain expectantly. I turned my gaze to the sky as a faint pinkish glow crept out from the East; the sun was rising. Captain Sparrow stepped up to the wheel and glanced at a strange instrument in his right hand. Then he clapped the object shut and dropped it in his jacket pocket. He turned back towards the crew.

            "Cast off!" he shouted.

            It took me half a second to realize what that meant, and in that time the rest of the crew had already released most of the lines holding the ship to the dock. The ship strained against the one remaining line holding it fast, and with more than a little embarrassment I realized my mistake.

            "Let her go, Abby!" yelled Anamaria.

            I hurriedly reached down and slipped off the last rope. The ship lurched forward and I cried out as I found myself slipping over the stern. But two members of the crew caught me and pulled me back. They were all laughing when I found my feet again. I straightened my hair and cloak, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

            "Don' worry, lass," said the first mate, "Ye'll find yer sea legs ere this voyage is over."


	4. Sea Legs

Chapter 3: Sea Legs

            It took some time, and it wasn't easy, but I did eventually get my sea legs. The first night I barely slept despite my not having rested at all the night before, due partly to the cold and partly to the knowledge that I'd just willingly boarded a pirate ship, and there was no turning back for me now. Three days later I was seasick, and spent the better part of my waking hours either huddled miserably in my bunk or retching over the side of the hull. Sometime after midday Captain Sparrow found me and gave me a mysterious concoction from his flask. I was hesitant to drink it at first, still wary of being in the company of pirates.

            "I'm not tryin' to poison ye, Abby," he told me, "Yer one of my crew now. Just drink."

            So I drank it, and it burned my throat like whiskey all the way down, but afterwards my nausea subsided and never returned.

            By the end of the first week I knew my way around the ship fairly well, and I also knew most of the crew by name: There was Mr. Cotton, the cook, who was mute and kept a bright blue parrot perched atop his shoulder at all times. His dumbness was the result of having his tongue cut out by mutinous pirates some years before. The parrot was supposed to be trained to speak for him, but mostly it just rattled off odd phrases like "Shiver me timbers!" or "Batten down the hatches!" whenever the fancy took it.

            "It's improvin' steady, though," said Anamaria hopefully.

            Then there was the first mate, Mr. Gibbs, who was an old friend of Captain Sparrow's. He was a patient, friendly sort of man who told wonderful stories of pirate lore: cursed gold, buried treasure and all the terrors of the Seven Seas. He even told me a bit of the history of the Black Pearl, how it had been captured and beset by an ancient curse, and how Captain Sparrow and his brave crew had fought with a band of ghostly, skeletal pirates to win it back. It was all just a story, I'm sure, but it was still fascinating to hear him tell it.

            Anamaria's was a different story: she had first met the Captain in the islands of the Caribbean, when he had "borrowed" her own ship and failed to return it. I then asked her why she continued to work under his command; she explained that he had promised her a new ship, and she was simply staying aboard until he kept his word.I suspected that she would probably be reluctant to leave the Black Pearl when that day came though, if indeed it came at all.

            Just as I was starting to feel truly comfortable at sea, we arrived at the harbor in Paris. The moment we were tied to the dock at the mouth of the River Seine, Captain Sparrow announced that he was going into town to do some trading and bargaining. The rest of the crew could do as they liked, so long as someone stayed behind to watch over the ship.

            "Abby!" he called suddenly.

            I straightened up and moved to the front of the group to face him.

            "Yes?" I asked, a little surprised.

            "Can ye speak French?"

            "Yes, a little. I learnt it in finishing school."

            "Ah, splendid! You come with me. As for the rest of ye, this is the last we'll see of Europe for a long while to come. Go enjoy yourselves!"

            The crew cheered and scattered off to enjoy the streets of Paris; Mr. Cotton stayed behind with his blue parrot to guard the ship. Captain Sparrow fixed his three-cornered hat atop his head and gestured for me to follow him down the gangplank. He seemed to walk differently when he met solid ground; he swayed on his feet like a drunkard, but he still carried himself quite proudly. I wondered at this strange walk I had somehow failed to notice before, but when my own feet met the ground I understood: sea legs. I myself found it difficult to stand upright for the first few moments without the steady rolling of the sea underneath me anymore. It was profoundly unsettling. The Captain didn't seem bothered by it in the least – he staggered gracefully, dutifully employing his easy nonchalance. The cobblestone streets of Paris were dirty but wonderful, especially to the eyes of a young girl like myself who had scarcely seen past the borders of her own neighborhood. The roads wound inward towards a great plaza lined with monuments, churches, and beautiful stone carvings. I would have very much liked to stay and take in my surroundings, but the Captain led me straight to a merchant's booth on the corner of the Champs-Elysée. The merchant seemed to recognize him and nodded amiably, but he cast a wary glance in my direction. He stood up at Captain Sparrow's approach.

            "Ah, bienvenue, Jacques!" he said, shaking the Captain's hand heartily, "Quelle surprise! Qu'est-ce que vous voudriez aujourd'hui?"

            The Captain smiled.

            "Pleasure, as always, Fontaine," he returned pleasantly.

            Then he turned to me.

            "What exactly did he say?" he asked quietly.

            "Oh," I said, remembering my task, "He says 'welcome' and he wants to know what you'd like to buy, I think."

            "Ah, of course. What has he got to offer me?"

            Before I could translate, Fontaine turned to me and said, "Qui est cette jolie?"

            I blushed and smiled at the merchant.

            "What was that?" asked the Captain.

            "Something along the lines of 'who's the pretty girl?'" I said, and then introduced myself.

            Fontaine took my hand and kissed it charmingly.

            "Enchanté," he said.

            "Watch your ring, Abby," muttered Captain Sparrow.

            I looked down and realized that the merchant had deftly taken hold of my gold ring and was attempting to remove it from my finger as he kissed my hand. I snatched my hand away with disgust.

            "Now ask him what he has for me," said the Captain, "I'd like a new knife, if he can manage that."

            I translated this request to Fontaine, who looked slightly disappointed after his failed robbery, and he produced a lethal-looking dagger with an intricately carved ivory hilt. The Captain unsheathed the dagger and ran his thumb along the blade, studying it carefully.

            "Are there any others?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the knife.

            "Est-ce qu'il y a un autre?" I asked Fontaine.

            He set several more daggers on the tabletop and Captain Sparrow studied each of them with comparable scrutiny before selecting one with a jewel-encrusted hilt along with the ivory-handled one and handed Fontaine a few gold pieces as payment. Then we moved on to several more merchant stands until our work was done. It took a good deal longer than I had expected it to, but I didn't mind: it gave me a chance to admire the city while the Captain haggled and decided which goods were worth buying for the voyage. The only stops I paid much attention to after Fontaine were the food merchants; the Captain wanted to replenish our stores before turning south, and the French bakeries were nothing short of magnificent. I actually took the liberty of making suggestions as to what we should take on our voyage, mostly so I would have the option of tasting it all later on, but the Captain didn't seem to mind. We left the plaza with an armload each of new rations and other luxuries, and Mr. Cotton helped us to carry it all back on board. Captain Sparrow then took out the two knives from Fontaine's to look them over once more.

            "The ivory one is beautiful," I said, watching him, "Why'd you get both of them? Isn't one enough?"

            He sheathed the ivory dagger and tossed it at me; I caught it, surprising myself with the quickness of my own reflexes.

            "That one's for you," he said, turning back to rummage through the rest of our goods.

            "For me?" I asked, dumbfounded.

            "Aye. For acting as me interpreter today."

            He turned back to me.

            "Besides," he added, "I noticed you're rather unarmed otherwise."

            I stared at him open-mouthed, shocked by this act of unexpected generosity.

            "Thank you," I said finally.

            He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder, turning me to face him directly.

            "You may need it before this little pleasure cruise is over, love," he said gravely.

            Then he walked ashore to locate the rest of the crew. I turned the knife over in my hands, studying the exquisite handle. But I was more than a little troubled by the Captain's parting words; what did he know that I didn't?


	5. The Night Storm

Author's Note: Wow, thanks for the response everyone! And yes, it was real French that I used in the last chapter – at least as far as I can tell. I did my best; glad it was reasonably convincing. And now for a little announcement: I've started a mailing list to keep you guys informed of all my updates – in other words I'll send out a mass email when I've put up the next chapter. It's solely for your convenience, but it's very small right now, so if you want to be added just let me know. (That means putting your email address up with the reviews, so I can put you in the address book.) Okay, on with the next chapter – please RnR!

Chapter 4: The Night Storm

            We stayed ashore for the night, spending the evening in a crowded bar drinking, dancing and making the most of our last sight of dry land for months to come. Anamaria told me about the boat she'd lost – or that Captain Sparrow had lost – and I had to admit afterwards it sounded wonderful. I asked her what it was like to captain her own ship, and if it was difficult to keep command of grown men who were no doubt stronger than she. She just smiled and said, "There en't no fist stronger than a woman's tongue, Abby. Remember that." And then she took a swig of mulled wine and joined the others in a pirate song. I couldn't understand most of the words because they were so jumbled by the effects of the alcohol, but it seemed both joyful and completely ridiculous. At the end Captain Sparrow raised his tankard with the others.

            "Take what you can!" he shouted.

            "And give nothing back!" the others answered, raising their drinks in unison.

            It was the most wonderfully decadent night of my life; Mr. Gibbs even spun me around the dance floor a few times. It didn't occur to me to mention the knife the Captain had given me to the others, and truthfully I forgot all about it in the excitement of the evening. I can't even remember where I slept that night, but I do remember it being the most restful sleep I've ever had to this day.

            We left at daybreak the following morning; the Captain seemed filled with an inexplicable eagerness to be on our way, and he cursed and berated the crew more harshly than usual. I was used to it by now – I knew he meant no harm – but something about his tone this time bothered me.

            "What's going on?" I asked Mr. Gibbs, "He seems a good deal angrier than usual."

            "Aye, that he does," he agreed, "There's no tellin' what's in his head just yet, though. I can' see the danger, if there is any. . . But he'll not let any of the crew come to harm, rest assured o' that."

            So I left the matter alone, and after a few days back at sea Captain Sparrow seemed back to normal. We lowered the sails only at night, and only then when the Captain was sure that we could go no further until morning. One evening we encountered a raging thunderstorm, and for the fourth time in my short life I felt truly frightened. The winds howled against the sails, threatening to rip the ship apart at a moment's notice. The gunwales creaked under the strain of the crashing waves as the ship rocked back and forth on its keel. Rain and seawater flooded the deck; I nearly slipped overboard several times, and I wasn't the only one. I held fast to the main line, heaving all my weight against it as Mr. Gibbs and I struggled to keep the main sail aloft. Captain Sparrow kept a tight hold on the wheel, steering the ship blindly towards a destination only he could see. Anamaria finally clamoured up the steps to the bow and begged him to lower the anchor.

            "You're mad, Jack!" she yelled, struggling to keep her voice above the wind, "We en't gettin' no further in this! Ye have to take down the sails!"

            "She'll hold!" the Captain insisted, "The storm is letting up – keep her on keel!"

            "The ship will hold!" said Anamaria, "But think of Abby! She'll never make it if ye keep her out in this!"

            Just then another wave crashed over the hull, soaking me and Mr. Gibbs to the bone with freezing saltwater. I barely had time to feel grateful for Anamaria's concern for me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Captain Sparrow look in my direction, then he turned to Anamaria and told her to take the wheel. He staggered down the steps and gave the order to drop the anchor and lower the sails. I tried to help Mr. Gibbs drop the main sail, but my hands had frozen into hard claws; I couldn't let go. Suddenly the Captain grabbed hold of me and broke my grip, taking hold of the rope himself.

            "Get in my cabin!" he yelled.

            "What?" I asked.

            "Go! Now!"

            So I stumbled into his cabin at the bow of the ship and collapsed on the wet floor. The ship seemed to rock even more now that I was inside – something about not being able to see the waves as they came made them feel all the more turbulent. My hands were still stiff and ached from the cold, and I wondered absently if they could be frostbitten. A short time after that the ship seemed to still, if only a little, and the Captain burst into the cabin. He helped me to my feet, grabbed a brown bottle from the cupboard, and then half-dragged, half-carried me back to the deck.

            "We're going below with the others," he told me when we reached the hatch, "Nothin' to do now but wait. It'll stop soon enough. Come on."

            He led me down to one of the larger rooms below where some of the crew were in the midst of a game of cards. The winds were dying in earnest now, and the ship became steady, but the rain came in heavy torrents against the portholes and the deck so we still couldn't raise the sails. Captain Sparrow sat me down in a corner of the large room. Mr. Cotton soon appeared with a miraculously dry blanket for me to wrap up in.

            "Thank you," I whispered through chattering teeth.

            Mr. Cotton merely smiled and draped the blanket over my shoulders.

            "Man overboard! Man overboard!" squawked the parrot.

            I laughed; I could barely move, but I was starting to feel better. Captain Sparrow removed his rain-soaked coat and three-cornered hat, I assumed to allow himself more freedom of movement. He set the brown bottle on the floor next to me. I had rarely seen him without his hat before, and took a delirious interest in the bright red scarf he wore wrapped around his head. He knelt down in front of me, took both my hands in his and examined the stubborn claws closely.

            "You don't think I could have frostbite, do you?" I asked nervously.

            He gave a short laugh.

            "It's hardly cold enough for that, love," he said simply.

            I winced as he slowly uncurled my fingers for me; I honestly felt as if my bones were about to break.

            "Easy," he said gently, continuing to straighten my fingers.

            He started massaging my hands and soon I felt life in them again. That was the most painful part: the throbbing as my blood rushed back into my cold joints. I bit my lip against the pain as Captain Sparrow continued rubbing my hands. His slow, repetitive touch was soothing, almost hypnotic; I didn't want him to stop. The throbbing gradually subsided and I began feeling warmer. Suddenly he let go. I looked up at him.

            "Can ye move 'em now?" he asked.

            "I'm not sure," I said, stretching my fingers gingerly.

            "Come now," he insisted, "Let's see ye make a fist."

            I slowly balled my right hand into a fist, then my left, and unclenched them again. Everything seemed fine; even the throbbing had stopped completely.

            "Good," said Captain Sparrow, and then he fetched an empty tankard from a shelf above my head.

            He uncorked the brown bottle and poured half its contents into the tankard.

            "What is that?" I asked, realizing he meant me to drink it.

            "Brandy," he said, handing me the tankard, "That's for warmin' the rest of ye."

            I took a deep swallow of the brandy, grimacing at the harsh taste of it but relishing the way it heated my throat on the way down. The warmth of the drink spread slowly through the rest of my cold body. I drank again, and when I lifted my gaze I saw that the Captain had gone to stand over the card-players, watching the game with great interest. Anamaria suddenly appeared beside me.

            "All right, Abby?" she asked, helping me to my feet.

            "Yes," I said, "But only just. I don't know why I stood out there so long – thanks."

            "For what, lass?"

            "I know it was you who convinced the Captain to take down the sails."

            Anamaria smiled and steered me towards a seat at the card table.

            "Only doin' me job. I can' bear watchin' another crew member fall."

            She sat down next to me and picked up her hand of cards.

            "What are you playing?" I asked curiously.

            "Here, I'll teach ye," she said, and she gave me a brief summary of the rules as the game continued.

            "Fancy a hand, Jack?" asked Mr. Gibbs as another round ended.

            "Aye!" said the Captain, pulling up a chair, "Deal me in, mate."

            I watched and talked with them, sipping at my brandy, and eventually joined in the game myself when I decided I had the rules fairly well in mind. I couldn't figure out why I kept losing until Mr. Gibbs enlightened me.

            "Yer the on'y one not cheatin'," he said with a wink.

            Everyone laughed heartily, and gradually my night transformed from a near-fatal brush with a winter thunderstorm into a strengthening of comradeship with my fellow shipmates. It was that night that it finally dawned on me that I was the only one aboard who always addressed the Captain as "Captain." All the others sometimes called him "Jack." Of course, it wasn't always "Captain" that I called him; sometimes it was "Captain Sparrow" or "Sir," but never just "Jack." I was always polite and respectful in the way I spoke to him, and the others usually were too, but not always. I wondered why no one had bothered to mention this discrepancy to me. I suppose it amused them having such a well-bred young lady aboard amongst their rouges and scoundrels. Still, the difference gave me moment's pause, but little more. I thought nothing of it afterwards for a long while.


	6. Bootstrap, Will and Elizabeth

Author's Note: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews everyone! This next chapter is sort of . . . well, I guess you could say it's a little schmaltzy, but I think you'll like it. In any case, please let me know what you think, and let me know if you want to be added to the mailing list! Oh, one more thing: if you leave a signed review, I can just get your email from your profile, so don't worry about typing it up again. Please R&R!

Chapter 5: Bootstrap, Will and Elizabeth

            We got a comparatively late start the next morning; the events of the previous night had exhausted and relaxed everyone, even Captain Sparrow. The remainder of the voyage was remarkably smooth, at least during the time that I was still a part of it. I decided I quite liked pirates: they were coarse in their language and manners, and not to mention criminals by their very nature, but they were without a doubt the finest company I had ever kept. One day the winds died entirely, and we were left stranded in the middle of the open ocean at a complete standstill. Captain Sparrow waited to drop the sails, watching anxiously – along with the rest of us – for the slightest hint of a breeze. The good thing was we were now further south, and the air was much warmer. Finally the Captain decided to lower the sails and drop the anchor to keep the current from pulling us off-course. We knew our day was truly over when he came down from the bow, stretched out with his back to the hull and pulled his hat down over his eyes. Some of the crew went below, but I stayed on deck with Mr. Gibbs and Anamaria to watch the sunset over the water. The soft, slowly deepening reds and violets in the sky cast the waters in a hazy, iridescent glow. The sun became a great orange ball, sinking into the ocean faster as it got closer to the horizon. For some reason it occurred to me then to wonder about our destination.

            "Mr. Gibbs?" I asked.

            "Aye?"

            "Where exactly are we going?"

            "South. Probably some island where Jack has contacts – he has someone most everywhere these days. And then we cross the Atlantic after the New Year, an' make for the Caribbean."

            "What brings us to the Caribbean?"

            "Young Will Turner. A good friend of ours – helped us win this very ship back some years ago. Word is he's finally got his own ship; Jack's taken it into his head to drop by and give the boy his professional opinion on the vessel. Good man, Will Turner. Just like his father. . ."

            "Will's father was Bootstrap Bill Turner," said Anamaria, "One of the finest pirates that ever lived, and a good man too. He used to crew this ship, back even before that accursed mutiny. Ye've heard all about that, haven't ye?"

            "I know the story," I said.

            "Well, after Captain Sparrow was lef' fer dead," continued Mr. Gibbs, "Bootstrap was the on'y one stood up for him. He said the others deserved to be cursed. Now, ye can imagine the effect that kind o' talk can have on a pirate, even a decent one. But this lot was the cruelest, most unforgivin' band of villains ye'd ever seen. They chucked Bill overboard with a cannon strapped to his bootstraps, and he was never seen or heard from again. 'Cept in the likeness of young Will, o' course."

            There was a short silence then; both of them clearly thought highly of Bill, and considered his loss a great tragedy. I became curious about this son of his, Will Turner, and wondered what he would be like when I finally met him. Assuming I met him at all.

            "I wonder who he's brought on as first mate?" said Anamaria, "Could be Elizabeth – she's bound to have a spot on that ship somewhere."

            "Aye, no doubt," agreed Mr. Gibbs.

            "Who's Elizabeth?" I asked.

            "Ah, that's Will's wife," said Anamaria, "She en't a pirate by blood, but she sails and fights as well as the best of 'em. She single-handedly convinced Captain Barbosa, Sparrow's old first mate, to pull his guns off Port Royal."

            "She stood up to him more'n once, too," said Mr. Gibbs, "Remarkable woman. . . She's a grand storyteller too – knows more pirate lore than most pirates, if ye can believe that."

            "More than you even?" I asked.

            Mr. Gibbs laughed.

            "That's a fair question, Abby," he said, "I don't know. Truth be told, though, I taught that girl the first stories she ever heard. That was many years ago, back before she'd met Will. She was just a child then, but fearless as could be. Good thing, too, because a pirate's tales en't for the faint-hearted. It never pleased her father much, those stories I told her, but she couldn't get enough of them. Always thirstin' for adventure, she was."

            "And she found it too," said Anamaria.

            "Aye, that she did."

            Mr. Gibbs looked up at the sky; it had gone deep blue now, scattered with more stars that I ever knew existed. It was always harder to see the night sky from the depths of England. Mr. Gibbs turned in for the night, and Anamaria soon followed, but I stayed up a while longer. The moon was full that night and the air was perfectly clear; there was an abundance of nocturnal light such as I'd never seen before, and would never see again. I leaned against the hull, watching the moon and stars cast silvery shadows on the water. Suddenly I sensed someone standing close to me. I turned to see Captain Sparrow leaning against the gunwale on my right, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon.

            "Beautiful night," he said, "En't it, Abby?"

            "Oh, aye – I mean yes," I said, correcting myself quickly.

            I silently thanked the night for hiding the blush I felt creeping onto my cheeks. The Captain laughed softly, but said nothing.

            "This," he said, gesturing grandly towards the ocean, "This is why I'm a pirate. This is the entire reason for my life's work. Nights like these, love."

            I smiled; I had seen him before, standing at the bow behind the wheel, completely enraptured by the expanse of beauty that lay before him. But I'd never expected him to admit it openly, at least not to me.

            "Enlighten me," he said suddenly, "What is it you're planning to do after I take you to America?"

            "I'm not sure," I answered truthfully, "I didn't think about it much after you agreed to take me."

            The truth was I hadn't thought about my chosen destination at all since Paris. I'd begun thinking of myself as one of the crew then, and I hadn't even considered what would become of me when the time came for me to leave. I thought back to the real reason for my journey, reminding myself that it wasn't America I had my heart set on: I was running away.

            "I suppose it doesn't really matter what I do," I told him, "My only plan is to start a new life, and I've already done that."

            "Perhaps. . ." said the Captain, "Who are you running away from?"

            "Who am I running away from? No one in particular I suppose, just everyone I've ever known my whole life."

            The bleakness of my words startled me, and my heart stopped when I realized how true they were. Aside from a ship full of renegades, I was completely alone in the world now. No one would even know my name once I left the ship. I knew no one back in England who would miss me; I wondered if any of the crew would, or if I'd just be forgotten. Suddenly I felt the warmth of the Captain's hand as his fingers closed over mine. My pulse quickened; I glanced down. He was looking at my gold ring.

            "Everyone?" he asked simply.

            I pulled my hand away from him and slid the ring off my finger, looking at it fondly.

            "This was my mother's," I said, "She died a long time ago; both my parents did. This is all I have to remember them by."

            I slipped the ring back on.

            "You've no family at all?" he asked.

            I thought of Roland, but I shook my head "no."

            "And now no home either," said the Captain, "Abby, darling, with a proper sense of wanderlust you'd make a right decent pirate."

            "You think so, Sir?"

            "Most undoubtedly."

            I smiled; that was the highest compliment I'd ever been paid. I looked down at my ring, watching it glitter in the bright moonlight.

            "Something still puzzles me," said the Captain.

            I turned to look at him; I was startled when I realized just how close he was standing. I could see a few of the stars reflected in his dark eyes and I felt his breath on my cheek when he spoke.

            "What is that?" I asked.

            "Do you remember what I asked you before I allowed you to come aboard?"

            "Yes; you asked if I'd be followed."

            "And you said you doubted it."

            "I do doubt it – I can't think of anyone that would miss me."

            "Ah, see that's what puzzles me."

            He raised his hand to touch my cheek; my heart skipped a beat.

            "What do you mean?" I asked.

            "How could you possibly believe that the disappearance of such a stunning creature as yourself would go unnoticed?"

            I stared back at him, astounded. What on earth did he expect me to say to that? There was still a small part of me that didn't quite trust him, as roguishly handsome as he was. And just when did I begin thinking of him as being "roguishly handsome" anyway? I opened my mouth to speak, but he put a finger to my lips. He softly traced the contours of my mouth, slid his hand behind my head and kissed me. I wasn't entirely unprepared for it – I had sensed it somehow – but I was surprised by how little I found myself resisting. My head kept repeating the same warnings to me over and over: to stop, get away, cry out or at least do something; he was a pirate after all, and was not to be trusted. But I kissed him back. Instead of pulling away I pressed closer to him. I closed my eyes and let him slip an arm around my waist and bend my body tight against his. I felt my own arms go around his shoulders as the kiss deepened. His hold on me was so tight it was almost crushing. When we parted he grabbed both my hands in his and looked me straight in the eye.

            "This way," he whispered, and he led me towards his cabin.

            Just then it hit me like a tidal wave what was about to happen. Suddenly terrified, I pulled abruptly out of his grasp. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him turn back towards me, but I didn't return his gaze. I scrambled down the hatch in a daze and blindly found my way to my bunk, locking the door behind me. I don't know whether he followed me or not; most likely he just went to sleep himself after I'd left. I was more confused than I had ever been in my life – the second breakthrough I'd had aside from my first stirrings of real fear. I disliked this sensation even more than the first. I lay awake for a long while that night, trying futilely to drive his remarkably gentle yet passionate touch from my mind.


	7. The Jealous Suitor

Author's Note: Thanks for all the positive response, everyone! I hope I got everyone that asked to be on the list. I'll check again and make sure I added everyone. Oh, whoever said Jack didn't seem like he was "in character," could you be a little more specific? I do wanna make this as accurate as possible. Anyway, this next one is a very pivotal chapter, and kind of a cliffhanger, so I'll try not to leave you hangin' for too long. In the meantime, let me know what you think!

Chapter 6: The Jealous Suitor

            The next morning was difficult at best. I never mentioned a word of what had happened the previous night to any of the crew, and I don't believe Captain Sparrow did either. Regardless, the Captain and I didn't say much to one another for most of the day. There is nothing I regret more than keeping silent that day, but I wasn't to discover my fate until several hours later. Fortunately there was plenty to do on deck to keep my mind off of things: the winds were unusually high, and extra care had to be taken to keep the ship on course. By late afternoon the winds stilled. We kept moving, but very slowly. Again some of the crew went below deck; Mr. Cotton's parrot perched itself atop the crow's nest and took to singing scrambled bits of old pirate songs to pass the time. Captain Sparrow stayed at the wheel, one hand lazily wrapped around the steering mechanism and the other resting on his hip. Anamaria and I sat by the starboard gunwale, untangling several lengths of rope that had gotten caught in the high breezes earlier that day. I cast more than a few would-be casual glances in the Captain's direction, and eventually Anamaria caught on.

            "Not fallin' fer Jack Sparrow, are ye?" she asked with a chuckle.

            I scolded myself silently for being so naïve and so incapable of masking my emotions.

            "No!" I said, perhaps a little too decisively, "Of course not. . . What makes you say that?"

            She just laughed and shook her head.

            "O' course, yer not," she repeated ironically, "I won't tell a soul, don' worry. But I will say this: Jack's a good man, make no mistake of that. But he is a pirate, and his first love is the open ocean. Ye can't change that, Abby."

            She stood up and brushed her skirt off, setting the coil of rope she'd been making back down on the deck.

            "Although," she said, "Ye en't the first to try, and I can't say I blame ye. An' ye won't be the last either."

            "I haven't admitted to anythin' yet," I reminded her, slightly annoyed, "You do realize that, don't you?"

            Before she could reply Cotton's parrot came swooping down on us in a peculiar frenzy.

            "Land ho! Land ho!" It squawked insistently, beating its blue wings over our heads.

            "Cotton!" yelled Captain Sparrow, "Shut that bloody bird up or ye'll be addin' it to the menu tonight!"

            Mr. Cotton gave the Captain a reproachful look and coaxed the parrot to its spot on his shoulder, where it quieted immediately. He glanced over the stern and suddenly a look of shocked anxiety came over his face. He looked back and waved me over to him frantically. I went over to the stern and followed his gaze. There was a dark, nebulous shape just below the horizon in the north. I squinted at the shape; there, unmistakably, was the mast of another ship. And it was getting closer. My eyes widened.

            "Captain!" I called.

            I heard his footsteps behind me but I kept my eyes glued on the ship; I didn't want to lose it. I pointed when I sensed him beside me and he whipped out his telescope. He was silent for a long time. I glanced over at him cautiously, but his face was stony and completely unreadable.

            "Abby, darling," he said finally, "There is but one sort of man that can match a pirate for both madness and ruthless determination."

            He folded the telescope without taking his eyes off the ship.

            "What sort of man is that?" I asked slowly.

            "A jealous suitor," he said, handing me the telescope.

            I put the telescope to my eye and found the ship. I couldn't make out any faces on board, but I recognized the flag: it was the crest of one of my old suitors, one of the Narcissistic ones. He had seemed particularly crestfallen at my rejection, and had taken it as a personal insult. As he'd left the house I had heard him mutter something under his breath. It had sounded like, "You'll regret this," but I had dismissed that idea as absurd at the time. His name was Covington.

            "I can't believe it," I murmured, lowering the telescope, "He's come after me."

            Captain Sparrow took back the telescope as I continued to stare at the ship in disbelief.

            "Your doubts were in vain, love," he said, "It appears you've been missed after all."

            He stalked back up to the bow, shouting orders as he went: we were going to row.

            "Come on," said Anamaria, leading me below deck to the oars.

            "This is the fastest ship in the Atlantic," I said, half to myself, "You said so yourself. They'll never catch us. Will they?"

            "Quiet Abby!" said Anamaria, "This en't the time for questions. Sit there."

            She pointed to a long bench on the port side of the hull equipped with a long-handled oar. I sat and gripped the handle with both hands, gazing up and down the row of similar benches in front of and behind me on both sides. I had never rowed before; I wondered uneasily if I would be able to keep up. Suddenly the others started moving. I focused on matching the sailor in front of me with every motion I made. Gradually our speed increased, and the ship was gliding smoothly through the waters. We kept rowing, and my shoulders began to ache with the effort of sweeping my oar back over and over again. I wished I could see what was going on outside; I had no idea if Covington's ship was still gaining on us.

            Suddenly we stopped. Mr. Gibbs' voice came down from the stairs at the hatch.

            "All hands on deck!" he called, "Everyone get back up here!"

            There was a confused exodus as everyone clamored toward the stairs.

            "Not you, Abby," he said when saw me, "Ye keep hidden – don' want the other sailors to see ye."

            "What?" I asked, outraged, "But I could bargain with him! That's not fair!"

            But the last of the crew had already gone through the hatch and closed it behind them. I groaned loudly in my annoyance, then ran off to a smaller room below with a grated covering through which I would be able to hear conversations on deck. I pulled a chair directly under the grating and stood on top of it to get the best vantage point possible. I heard odd mutterings from the crew, mostly just inquiries about what was happening, but then the Captain's voice came through the grate clearly.

            "Aye, we saw a girl o' that description some weeks ago," he was saying, "Back in Paris, wasn't it?"

            There was an affirmative rumble from the crew. And then I heard a different voice, a voice I hadn't heard for many years, and had hoped not to hear again.

            "Don't dare lie to me, pirate," said Covington, his tone cold and unforgiving, "I've seen her aboard this very ship. Last night, as a matter of fact, and with several witnesses."

            "Are you quite sure you aren't mistaken? All of my crew stands before you – this elusive mistress of yours must have been a dream, or a hallucination at best."

            I heard the cocking of a pistol.

            "I said don't lie!" yelled Covington, "I've tracked this ship all the way from London – I assure you my Abigail is aboard. Now where are you hiding her?"

            _His Abigail?_ I thought with disgust, _Of__ all the nerve!_

            I could tell from his tone that Covington thought I had been kidnapped, and that the pirates were keeping me for a ransom of some sort.

            "I will say this one time and one time only," said Covington, "If you do not surrender the girl, I will take this ship by force and I will see everyone on it hanged. You have no choice, pirate. Where is she?"

            There was a tense silence after that, and I heard movement on deck. Then the Captain's voice came through again, much quieter. He must have been standing just over the grate so that only Covington could hear him.

            "If I were to produce the girl," he said slowly, "Would I have your word that none else aboard this ship will be harmed by any force of the law by land or by sea?"

            "I can speak only for myself," said Covington, "But yes, I will not divulge any information concerning your whereabouts to anyone I meet, by land or by sea."

            "Very good."

            Then the Captain raised his voice.

            "Mr. Gibbs!" he called, "Bring forth the hostage."

            My mouth dropped open in horror; that dirty, lying scoundrel! He was actually going to turn me in! I wasted no time in getting back to my bunk and packing my things. I stashed all my goods, my clothes, a few coins, and a small store of food as before into my knapsack. Just as I was making to leave the room, my gaze fell upon the ivory dagger at the foot of my bed. I hesitated only an instant, and then grabbed the dagger and thrust it under the edge of my belt. I left the room and ran straight into Mr. Gibbs.

            "Stay away!" I yelled, staggering away from him frantically, "I won't go back! I won't!"

            "Come now, Abby," he said, starting in towards me.

            "No!" I screamed, and I took a swipe at him.

            He caught my arm easily and soon I was completely incapacitated. Mr. Gibbs led me upstairs by the shoulders.

            "Calm down, miss," he told me gently, "I haven't a clue what the Captain's plannin', but he won' give ye up. He'd never sacrifice a member of his own crew."

            So I went through the hatch quietly, and when I emerged I found myself face to face with Germaine Covington for the first time in nearly three years. His face was smooth and finely chiseled, and his eyes were shockingly blue. His black hair was combed neatly down both sides and shone with an unnaturally bright gleam in the afternoon sun. He moved toward me immediately, his pale face drawn with what seemed to be genuine concern.

            "Is everything all right, my dear?" he asked, taking both my hands in his, "What have they done to you? Oh, when I heard you'd been taken by pirates, I feared the worst."

            I pushed him away roughly.

            "I wasn't taken, you great oaf," I said coldly, "I ran away."

            "And look at the good it's done you," he said patronizingly, "Come now, Abigail, it's time to come home."

            I glanced back at the crew desperately. Captain Sparrow met my gaze with cold indifference. I knew what he was thinking: I had told him I wouldn't be followed, and I was wrong. Perhaps this was his way of punishing me for endangering his crew, however unwillingly. I looked to Anamaria; her face was set, expressionless. I felt a deep well of miserable disbelief rise up inside me. Covington draped a heavy arm around my shoulders and drew me to his side.

            "Our agreement, sir?" said Captain Sparrow.

            "I'll not speak a word," said Covington.

            "Good. Now remove yourself from my ship, and pray I don't change me mind."

            With that, Covington and his men loaded me onto a rowboat and took me back to their own ship. I sat in stunned silence, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Covington's ship must have caught us in spite of our efforts, and then naturally a correspondence had to be made and an agreement reached. But then why had the Captain bothered hiding me below if he had only intended to turn me in afterwards? I couldn't understand it. What was worse, my knapsack had been lost in my short tussle with Mr. Gibbs, and I now had nothing to my name aside from the clothes on my back and the ivory knife. I refused to let myself shed a tear. After all, I reasoned, I had more right to be angry than anything else, and anger didn't call for tears. I should have felt betrayed, abandoned, cheated – some emotion that instilled a burning rage in me, something that would make me feel stronger. Instead I was heartbroken. I didn't say another word to Covington, and the moment I was alone in my cabin I threw myself down on the bed and wept bitterly for countless hours.


	8. Covington

Author's Note: Hello again folks! I'm having trouble keeping track – I want to try and keep these updates pretty regular, but just because it's summertime right now I usually have no idea what day of the week it is. But thanks for sticking with me! In any case, here's the next chapter. It's longer than the others, but I think you'll really enjoy this one!

Chapter 7: Covington

            I passed the journey back to England in a muddled daze. Covington refused to believe that I hadn't been captured, or indeed that I had left home of my own free will. He seemed aghast at the idea that I was capable of setting out on my own. I suppose it was because he was a very old-fashioned sort of man in his thinking; in other words, he was of the mind that women were unable to think for themselves. At my best I ignored him and at my worst I imagined how he would look tied by his ankles to the rigging just below the crow's nest. I couldn't find it in myself to say anything to him; I was still too stunned by Captain Sparrow's betrayal to even plan another escape attempt. I wondered once or twice whether Covington was really thick enough not to notice how frustrated I was at being "rescued," but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he cared little what I was feeling, if he cared at all. He seemed to view this rescue mission as another mark of character for himself, and if he managed to get a bride out of the deal, well then so much the better. And he did intend to make me his bride, regardless of how many times I turned him down. He never left me to myself on the ship, especially during the day. He would speak to me about our future life together, and paint picture after idealistic picture of the magnificent places we would see and the home we would make. He even described in eerie detail all the trinkets and decorations he intended to shower me with. I allowed him to ramble on, because he it seemed to amuse him, and I stopped him only when he went so far as to hypothesize about the children we would have together.

            "That's quite enough, sir," I told him one day, "Please don't be so presumptuous – you think too highly of yourself, and I for one have no intention of letting you father any of my children."

            He simply stared at me for a moment, horrified at being spoken to so boldly by a woman, and then he struck me. The blow was glancing, and hardly even hurt, but it left a mark across my cheek where his fingernails had grazed my flesh. It caught me off-guard, but I didn't flinch. He didn't say another word about "our children" after that though.

            The only moments I had to myself were in the dead of night, while the rest of the crew was sleeping. I crept outside in the small hours before dawn came, staring up at the starlit sky. I lost a lot of sleep that way, but my mind wouldn't let me rest while I lay in my cabin anyway. The first few days that I spent aboard I kept a watch on the horizon, searching for any sign of life or land outside my sea-bound prison. I don't know what I was watching for all that time, but at night my thoughts inevitably came to rest on the Pearl, and more specifically its pirate captain. I did my best to convince myself that I was simply angry and baffled at being handed over to Covington so easily, but the longer I tried to shield myself from the truth the more certain it became. Anamaria was right: I _had_ fallen for Jack Sparrow, and every night I gazed up at the stars and wondered if the view looked the same to him, wherever he was at that moment. Some nights I allowed myself to wonder if he ever thought of me, and those nights my heart clung desperately to the idea that he would come after me eventually, that this betrayal was just a ruse to keep Covington off his guard while the Captain bided his time, devising some fantastically heroic plan to come and rescue me. But my rational mind told me that this couldn't be the case; Sparrow was a pirate, and pirates always acted only out of their own best interest. But I would have given anything to be back on that ship again.

            As we neared England and our journey's end drew closer, I began cautiously devising my own plan of escape. It was undoubtedly clear to me at that point that if I wanted to rid myself of Covington and my old life forever, I would have to do it by myself. But there could be no mistakes this time: I would have to be more careful, to really make a plan that would take me somewhere instead of leaving in the middle of the night with nothing more than a stubborn determination to start my life over. I recalled Sparrow's plan to make for the Caribbean after the New Year, and after many sleepless nights on-deck and many days deep in thought while Covington's blabbering lulled me, my plan was in place. It was now only a matter of putting it into action. Timing was of the essence.

            When we came ashore the real courting began. Covington threw torrents of lavish gifts at me, relentlessly trying to win me over. He never came right out and asked me to marry him; probably because he already knew what the answer would be, and didn't want to give me the satisfaction of turning him down again. But I wondered what he expected to happen when the time came for the actual wedding. He had already told me that he planned to have the glorious event held at Westminster Abbey in London; only the best for the future Mrs. Covington, as he put it. The thought made me sick to my stomach. The date for the wedding was January twelfth, so I still had time. Everyday Covington took me out somewhere to spend more money on me and fill me in on his most recent visions of our future together. I let him blather on and used the time to study the streets around us, planning my escape route more carefully than before. I felt more confident about my success with every passing day, and as the New Year crept closer and closer I became all the more anxious to make my move. But then we went to see Uncle Roland.

            "I hope you're proud of yourself, young lady," said Roland as we had tea in the living room, "You almost got yourself killed, do you realize that?"

            "I was never in any danger," I said coolly, "You needn't have worried about me. I know how to look after meself."

            "What's that? Have you even picked up that filthy brigand's jargon?"

            "The poor girl isn't entirely to blame," said Covington, "After all, she was aboard that ship for nearly two months. One can only expect her to pick up some of that rabble's ways after such a long voyage. Don't worry though, it won't last."

            I scowled at Covington; I resented his overprotective attitude and his way of constantly making excuses for me. It made me feel like a child. But I couldn't let on how much it bothered me, at least not yet. I didn't want the rat to become too suspicious before I had a chance to get away again.

            "All the same," said Roland, "Those pirates might be wondering what's become of her. We wouldn't want another incident now, would we?"

            "What do you mean, sir?" asked Covington.

            "I mean we should be extra careful to make sure the girl is well-protected. And I believe it would be prudent to send mercenaries after that pirate ship."

            "Just to be sure, you mean?"

            "Naturally. I realize you promised not to reveal the ship's whereabouts, but would it be breaking your promise to search for it now that its position has shifted? You could merely arrange for the Captain and crew to be brought ashore, and the law would carry out the rest."

            "Do you really believe the rogue would come after Abigail again? She means little to him, surely."

            "Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" I yelled.

            Roland glared at me satisfactorily over his teacup. The bastard had actually seen through me; he wasn't as thick as Covington. He knew me too well. He knew I had been hoping to return to the Black Pearl, and he was now taking action to prevent that from happening. This disguise of looking after my welfare would fool Covington faultlessly, and of course it would be Covington who carried out his request; the illusion would be seamless. They were going to hunt Jack. And now I had tipped my hand; I had had an outburst and revealed my displeasure at the plan, however slightly. Covington wouldn't be able to guess my motives from that, but Roland would. He had tricked me. Suddenly I had very little time left.

            "Don't be upset, my dear," said Covington, patting my hand, "We're only trying to ensure your safety. I doubt you have another pirate kidnapping in your future, but I must be sure. We don't want any accidents, do we?"

            Roland grinned snidely.

            Just before we left I took Roland aside under the guise of finding one of my mother's old things that had been left in the house. Then I confronted him.

            "What do you expect to gain from this?" I asked him coldly, "I thought you wanted me gone."

            "Regardless of what you may think, I want you safe."

            "At the expense of my own happiness, of course."

            "Abigail, I realize I've been a horrid caretaker all these years, but I want to make it up to you. You've taken it into your head to go after that ship yourself, and I won't have it. Whatever they led you to believe, pirates are not decent folk, and I can't allow you to follow them. Understand me?"

            "Make it up to me? For God's sake, Roland, I'm twenty years old! I'm not a child, I can –"

            "Don't you raise your voice to me, you ungrateful wench! I've done the best I can, and that's all I can do for you. Now, kindly go along with this marriage and don't let me hear another word about your taking refuge with pirates. Not one! Covington's a good man; he'll take care of you."

            "You haven't answered my question; what do you expect to gain from all this?"

            "I want to ease the guilt I've felt all these years for not ensuring you had the very best. And I don't want my own reputation soiled by a rebellious brat who craves some sort of foolish adventure."

            I left the old house with mixed feelings. So, Roland was concerned for my welfare after all; that much was clear. But it was only to settle his conscience, and he also didn't want to grant me happiness if it cost him his standing in the community. Even though I wasn't his niece by blood, I knew that my running off with pirates would tarnish his reputation greatly. In fact, that was the only thing I had considered before boarding the Pearl in the first place. What concerned me most was Roland's idea of hunting down the crew, and more specifically Jack Sparrow. I remembered Covington telling the pirates that he'd seen me aboard with his own eyes the night before I was taken. That had, of course, been the night Jack had kissed me. No doubt Covington had seen that, and now he might try to kill the Captain himself out of pure jealousy. So much had happened recently that I hadn't counted on, and now that I'd confessed to myself that I loved Jack I began to panic. What could I do? Set my plan in motion, that's what.

            I waited for New Year's Day, just to keep Roland and Covington off their guards, and I packed my things that very night. I had been keeping the ivory knife under my pillow; I took it out to gaze at it one last time before I set out on my journey. Moonlight flooded the room through a French window that led out to a balcony. The balcony was my means of escape; no one guarded the garden just outside, and I could climb down easily and make for the front gate undetected. But for the moment I turned the knife over in my hands, watching the ivory glow in the soft moonlight, thinking back on the complications my life had taken on since my first attempt at freedom. Suddenly the door swung open. Quick as lightening I unsheathed the knife and brandished it, turning to face the unexpected intruder. It was Covington.

            "Good heavens," he said, his startled eyes falling first on the knife, then on the nearly full knapsack at the foot of the bed, "Are you going somewhere, my dear?"

            "Yes," I said, unable to think of any excuses, "Now, get out of the way – I'm not wasting another minute in this house."

            "Don't be ridiculous; we are going to married in less than two weeks time. How do you expect to be back in time if you take a pleasure trip now?"

            "I'm not coming back, you insufferable moron! I never wanted to marry you. I told you three years ago."

            "Put down the knife, Abigail."

            "No! I've been listening to you for longer than I can stand as it is – I'm not about to start taking orders from you."

            Covington's expression grew dark, and he pulled out the pistol he kept at his side at all times. He pointed it straight at my heart.

            "Put down the knife," he repeated, "I didn't want it to come to this, darling. But you've given me no choice. You are going to be my wife in eleven days' time, there's no question about that. It's a good match: your family's old money and my new money. It will be perfect. And I never take no for an answer."

            I sheathed the knife silently. I felt absurdly unafraid, and I had no idea why.

            "You'll learn," I said simply, "My answer hasn't changed: I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man alive on this Earth."

            He cocked the pistol.

            "Please don't make me hurt you," he said, "Come now, unpack your things and tell me you'll stay here."

            "You're not going to pull that trigger."

            "Oh no?"

            "No, you're not. And I'll tell you why: if you kill me, your bride-to-be, just eleven days before the wedding people will become suspicious. You see, unlike myself you're acting out of rage and disbelief. I've been planning this escape since the day you took me off that ship."

            I moved closer all the while I was talking until the barrel of the gun was set flat against my chest, just below the throat.

            "Even if you manage to make this murder look like suicide, all the gossips will figure out I wasn't happy with this situation. And then both your reputation and my Uncle's will be completely destroyed."

            Covington began to falter; uncertain fear showed plainly on his gaunt, stupid face.

            "So go ahead," I continued, "Just pull that trigger and see what happens."

            There was complete silence for a long moment. Then Covington lowered the pistol, defeated. I shook my head.

            "You're a coward," I muttered.

            I snatched the gun out of his grasp and stashed it in the knapsack along with the ivory knife. Then I breezed past him and walked boldly out the front door of the Covington estate, taking the path I'd chosen back to the tavern by the docks. This was much better; not only was I leaving my old life behind me for sure and certain, I now felt a brazen satisfaction at having finally told that rat off to his face. I reached the tavern faster than I thought I would, empowered by my own act of daring, and wasted no time. I immediately shoved the other patrons aside and climbed on top of the bar. I drew myself up to my full height and looked down at the slovenly crowd. Most of them were looking up at me curiously, but one table kept up a particularly loud game of poker, taking no notice of me. I calmly produced the ivory knife from my knapsack and flung it toward the card players; it landed with a resounding thunk in the very center of the table. The card players immediately quieted and looked up.

            "Your attention please, gentlemen," I said loudly, producing a small bag full of change, "I have twenty gold pieces for the sailor who can take me to the Caribbean."

            I tipped the coins into my hand to let them see that the gold was real. An uncertain murmur rumbled through the crowd.

            "Ten more," I continued, "If the journey can begin tonight. What say you?"

            And then I heard laughter. The scoundrels weren't buying my story; this was not good. Some of them began catcalling and making rude remarks about my dress, which was uncharacteristically low-cut. I repeated the request, undaunted.

            "Thirty gold pieces in all," I said, "Now, which of you is man enough to sail under a woman?"

            That shut them up. A timid-looking man approached the bar cautiously.

            "I cen take ye, miss," he said quietly, "Heaven knows I need the money."

            "Have you a fast ship?"

            "Aye, fast enough: The Jubilee. She en't what she used to be, but she'll get ye to the Caribbean all righ'."

            "And can we start tonight?"

            "Aye, miss, if that's yer wish."

            "Perfect."

            I hopped down from the bar and strode over to the poker table to retrieve my knife. I followed the slight sailor out of the tavern to the docks and boarded his small ship, The Jubilee. The crew was small as well, but sufficient. Jonathan Burke, the sailor and Captain, explained the situation as briefly and completely as he could, and in less than half an hour we were underway, sailing back to the open ocean under the stars. And for the first time in a little less than month, I was happy.


	9. The Jubilee

Author's Note: Hello all! Here's the first part of Abby's journey back to Jack Sparrow. I've taken these next chapters fairly slow, just to convey the passage of time, but I hope it's not boring or anything like that. That's always the danger, I guess. Anyway, read and review – let me know what you think!

Chapter 8: The Jubilee

            If the ocean air had been chilly back in October when I'd boarded the Black Pearl, now it was downright frigid. The spray from the sea froze on the deck and the ropes, and the crew had to work hard chipping away at the ice that coated everything. They used everything from machetes to iron flat wear to break through; fortunately the ice was thin enough that it didn't put up much of a fight. I helped them as much as I could, as it was my fault they were out in this dreadful weather to begin with, and soon I became an honorary member of the crew. The camaraderie of the Jubilee was very different from that of the Pearl, where gruesome pirate's tales and crooked card games had bound me to the others in spirit. This ship was much more orderly and refined, and its soft-spoken Captain, Mr. Burke, was as unlike Captain Sparrow as any man I'd met in my short lifetime. One very notable difference in my second voyage, of which I didn't even become aware until two weeks out at sea, was that this time I was the only woman aboard. I missed Anamaria. Tough as she was, she had always conveyed a kinship of sorts with me simply because we were the only women aboard. I was alone in that respect now, and although I hadn't expected anything different, it made me sad. What upset me the most was remembering her face as I had last seen it: cold, unreadable, and resolutely unhelpful.

            I tried not to think about that day if I could help it, now that I was on my way back to the very people who had betrayed me. I spent several cold, sleepless nights on deck, questioning my motives for doing this. Why, really, was it so important for me to find Jack and the others again? The obvious answer was that I was in love with him, but that wasn't enough somehow. I had never been one to risk my own life and reputation for anyone, much less for any man. An easier explanation was Covington; I was ridding myself of him for good now, because surely he wouldn't dare chase me now that I'd stood up to him. Would he? But it still wasn't enough. Even if I was simply trying to get away from my "jealous suitor" as Jack had called him, there was an infinite number of places I could go to accomplish that feat. Why the Caribbean? Why had I chosen the one place where I knew I could find Jack again? Jack. . . Every time I thought of him, my feelings became confused and chaotic. On the one hand I longed to see him again, but on the other my heart still burned with rage at his betrayal. And then I found the most plausible reason for my voyage: I wanted to know why he'd done it. Why had he handed me over to Covington when he surely knew that man and others like him were exactly what I'd been running away from? Why had he calmly surrendered me when he and his crew could have easily beaten Covington in battle, if it had come to that? And why had Anamaria quietly stood by and done nothing when she had been the one who had led me to the Black Pearl in the first place? I needed answers, and I knew I couldn't rest until I found them.

            One day Mr. Burke approached me just as the sun was rising. It was a little warmer now, so I knew we were further south.

            "We're straight on course, m'lady," he said cordially, "Makin' excellent time too – we're a good bit further along than I'd have expected. Yer good luck for my ship, I'm certain!"

            I smiled, but didn't say anything. All was quiet for a moment, then Mr. Burke spoke up again, this time more gingerly.

            "Actually, miss," he said, "What is it in the Caribbean that has ye in such a rush to get there, if ye don' mind me askin'?"

            "I don't mind," I told him, "But I can't tell you everything, I'm afraid."

            "Oh, well o' course ye can't."   

            Mr. Burke ducked his head meekly and started to turn away.

            "It's all right," I called after him; he turned back, "I have unfinished business out there. I have a score to settle, with a pirate captain. But that's all I can tell you."

            "Unfinished business with a pirate?" he asked incredulously, "Ye gads, I knew ye were brave, miss, but –"

            "That'll do, sir. I'm glad to hear we're making such good time. Do you have any idea when we'll arrive?"

            "Should be within the month, maybe later. It won' be long now!"

            "Wonderful. Thank you, sir."

            Mr. Burke didn't question me again, and I felt a little guilty for putting him off but I was grateful. We arrived at Port Royal four weeks later, just as Mr. Burke had predicted. We stayed ashore for the night to get acquainted with the town and decide on our next plan of action. Mr. Burke and his crew were of the mind to stay for the remainder of the winter and then make their way back towards England before the weather became stiflingly hot, and I didn't blame them. I gave Mr. Burke his twenty gold pieces – I had given him the other ten just after we'd gotten underway – and left him to his crew. I had to think some on my own before I made my next move.

            I wandered into a cozy little tavern, got myself a mug of hot cider and found an empty table where I could mull things over in peace. Well, I'd made it. I'd bought myself a place on a good ship and made it all the way to the Caribbean Islands, and it was now well after the New Year. I had no doubt that Sparrow's crew had had an easier time of it than we had, given that they'd sailed much further south beforehand and spared themselves the trouble of dealing with the ice. I was sure they would be here somewhere, but where to start? I supposed I could ask around and see if anyone had seen the Black Pearl come into port, or at least find out where it was docked. Still, knowing Jack, he would probably make a point of keeping himself and his crew fairly scarce in order to avoid attracting any unnecessary attention. That's when I realized I hadn't thought this through very well. I had done the first bit brilliantly – getting across the Atlantic, that is – but at this point I was lost. I didn't know any of the streets or the geography of the area and the only sailor I knew was Mr. Burke, and I reckoned I'd asked enough of him already. I sipped thoughtfully at my cider, wondering what on earth I was going to do next. Before long my mug was empty, and I was just deciding to leave the matter alone until morning when I heard a familiar voice.

            "That en't Abby Jackson!"

            I looked up, towards the bar.

            "Anamaria!"

            I sprang to my feet and we shared a huge embrace, then she sat down across from me at the table.

            "I can' even tell ye how glad it makes me to see ye here," she said, "The ol' blighter was right!"

            "What are you talking about?" I laughed, "What old blighter?"

            "Jack, o' course! Listen, first off I want to apologize on behalf of meself and the rest of the crew. I near took Jack's head off when he let ye go – it took four of our heaviest to hold me back."

            "Is that right?"

            "Ye better believe it, love. I've never been so angry at that man. Except just after he stole my ship, but that was a bit different. I'd have gone after ye meself, and I weren't the only one, but Jack wouldn't have it."

            "Why not? And since when would that make any difference to you? I thought a woman's tongue was stronger than any fist."

            "Don't you be tellin' me what I shoulda done. Yer a smart girl, Abby, but there's much ye don' understand. Ye never cross your captain – it's the same for any sailor."

            "So you just blindly follow orders, is that it?"

            The rage was coming back now, and in full force. I had forgotten it because I'd been so glad to see Anamaria again, but now I remembered why I had come here – I wanted answers, and I wouldn't settle for anything less than the truth. Anamaria's face darkened; she probably hadn't counted on my being so upfront about my anger, because I'd been so docile before.

            "I understand yer angry," she said evenly, "But I can't give you all the answers at once. If you want to understand why we let ye go, you'll have to be patient."

            I took a deep breath; she was right, of course. I would have to let her tell the whole story, and I'd have to let her do it her way.

            "All right," I said, "I'll be patient."

            "Good. Now the first thing ye need to understand is that we couldn't do anything while Covington was still aboard, not unless Jack told us to. That part I understood straightaway; if we were goin' to come after ye, it would have to be later on so we could catch that oafish suitor of yours off his guard. What we hadn't counted on was not goin' after ye at all, even after that ship was outta sight. That's when I near took Jack's head off, and then he told us at least partly what he was plannin' to do. He seemed to think ye'd find yer way out here sooner or later on your own – he said that ye knew it was our plan to make for these isles after the New Year, and he expected ye'd follow us if ye could. And he was right, turns out! Some of us were skeptical o' course, me included, but we did as he said and kept on course. He's never led us wrong yet."

            "So, it's like a military operation I suppose – trust your leader against all odds, no matter what."

            "No. See, a military operation calls ye to trust yer leader even if he don' deserve it, before ye even give him a chance to earn it. Jack, now, he's earned it."

            "And he's never wrong?"

            Anamaria smiled.

            "Not anymore," she said.

            I smiled. But something still troubled me.

            "Anamaria," I said, "I still don't understand what made him so sure I'd come out here. I mean, I didn't even plan it myself until weeks after Covington took me. And why didn't you just come after me while I was aboard the other ship? Surely you lot could've taken Covington's men easily."

            "Ye'll have to ask Jack to find out all that, I'm afraid."

            "Well, where is he?"

            "Not far off, but he's not on this island. He's gone off to Tortuga to catch up with some old friends of ours – Will and Elizabeth Turner. You remember?"

            "Yes, of course! That's why you came here to begin with, isn't it?"

            "Aye, it was."

            "Well, why aren't you with them? Didn't you want to catch up with the two of them as well?"

            "I've done it already, and now I'm goin' on my way."

            "You're sailing away already?"

            "Aye – Jack's bought me a ship! Would ye like to see it?"

            "Oh, I'd love to!"

            Anamaria led me outside to the docks and showed me the ship Jack had finally given her. It was wonderful – not as majestic as the Pearl of course, but it was a perfectly respectable vessel. She had decided to name it the Deliverance because it gave her the freedom to sail wherever she wanted, and also because it freed Jack from his old promise to get her a ship, now that he'd fulfilled it. It was a good sign as far as I was concerned – Jack was a man of his word, if nothing else. Anamaria offered to take me to Tortuga before setting off herself so I could have a word with Jack, and so the next morning we set sail with the crew she'd assembled. It was a slow, leisurely sail – we weren't in any hurry, and the other island was close-by. I asked Anamaria what she planned to do now that she had her own ship.

            "I might stay here a bit longer, now that you're here," she said, "And after that. . . I dunno. I could do anythin' I suppose – the ocean is mine!"

            "Won't you be sad to leave the Black Pearl though?"

            "Sad? I'll miss some o' the crew, and Jack of course, but I wouldn't say I'll be sad. As I've told ye before, a pirate's first love is the open ocean, an' the only way to reach it is with a good ship. One's own ship. No, Abby. I'll be sad to leave the rest of 'em behind, but I been missin' me own ship for far too long."

            As she spoke she looked out over the bow at the horizon, and I saw that same look of tranquil ecstasy that I'd noticed in Captain Sparrow aboard the Pearl. It was a beautiful thing to watch, but I couldn't quite identify with it. I wasn't a pirate after all; I supposed I'd never really understand what it felt like to command one's own ship. I felt a great divide between Anamaria and myself in that moment, and I realized then that I would never reach a true kinship with her unless I became a pirate myself.


	10. Tortuga

Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is one of my … well, not my favorite chapters, but it has one of my favorite lines in it. I'm quite proud of it. *beams* See if you can figure out which one I'm talking about. (Shouldn't be too hard.) As always, thanks for your support everyone! Please read and review, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Chapter 9: Tortuga

            We reached Tortuga in just two days. The length of the trip amazed me because I'd grown so accustomed to staying aboard for weeks at a time, but I didn't complain. The entire town reminded me of that horrible tavern where I'd first met Anamaria: there was booze and debauchery everywhere, and at every corner a fight broke out over seemingly miniscule matters. This was a town for pirates. Anamaria led me to a tavern where she suspected we could find Jack and then went to the bar to get a drink for herself. I picked my way through sleeping drunks and overturned chairs, checking every table for a sign of Jack. I intended to give him an earful when I found him; unlike Anamaria, I wasn't satisfied with the notion of trust he seemed to have gained from his crew. Sure, his word may have been good enough for a band of pirates, but I still wanted a real explanation for my abandonment.

            Finally I saw him: his back was towards me, but I recognized the red scarf that he kept tied around his matted, black hair. He was sitting with two people I didn't know, a man and a woman, and gesticulating enthusiastically. He appeared to be in the midst of a fantastically amusing story, because the woman kept laughing vivaciously. As I got closer to the couple I saw that they were both unusually handsome and well-groomed, considering their current setting. The man had soft brown eyes, longish wavy hair of the same color and an easy smile; he wore a magnificent wine-colored cloak, and a grey hat with a white feather lay on the table in front of him. The woman was sitting slightly behind him from my view, so her dress was more difficult to discern, but she had a decidedly refined air about her, mingled with something inexplicably restless.

            As I neared the table the woman spotted me and eyed me curiously. Jack stopped talking and turned in his seat to face me. His dark eyes flashed momentarily when he saw me. I stood still and crossed my arms in front of me.

            "Captain Jack Sparrow," I said simply.

            He stood up and smiled sheepishly at me.

            "Abigail," he said in return, "I thought I might be seeing you again."

            I raised my right hand and slapped him hard across the face. The blow took him by surprise, and he was forced to spin around and catch himself on the table. Oddly, neither of his companions seemed particularly surprised by this.

            "Bad luck, mate," said the man, helping Jack to his feet again, "What have you done this time?"

            "He betrayed me!" I said, "He helped me escape my home only to turn me over to the very man I was running away from."

            "I can explain," said Jack.

            "I certainly hope so," I said icily, "For your own sake."

            "You must be Abby," said the woman, who was still seated at the table.

            "Ah yes, of course," said Jack absently, "Abby, allow me to present Will and Elizabeth Turner. Friends, this is Abigail Jackson. Or is it Mrs. Covington now?"

            I glared at him hatefully; the nerve of that man!

            "It's Abby," I said, "Don't press your luck."

            Jack grinned at me slyly and slid back into his seat, offering me the empty place next to him. I gaped at him for half a second, awestruck by his sheer audacity, then sat down next to him. I took a moment to apologize for my behavior to Will and Elizabeth; it had just dawned on me whom I'd been introduced to, and I felt extremely foolish for showing such rash temperament in front of them. Will was a good deal more handsome than I had expected him to be; he seemed untouched by the rigors of pirate life, but still sturdy and no doubt fearsome in battle. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was dramatically different from the woman I had envisioned when Mr. Gibbs had told me her story. I found that I had been expecting a pretty but formidable sort of woman, hardened by the sea and as coarse in language and manner as the crew of the Pearl, if not more so. But here was a lovely, well-bred girl scarcely older than myself who, while clearly headstrong and free spirited, was every inch an English lady.

            I kept my temper under control for the next few minutes as I talked with Will and Elizabeth. Anamaria joined us shortly after that, and soon I started becoming anxious to interrogate Jack again. I endured their seafaring gossip for as long as I could, and then I convinced Jack to come outside with me so I could talk to him privately. It was night by then, and quite cool. I was unwittingly reminded of the last night I had spent aboard the Black Pearl, but I forced the romantic image out of head as soon as it popped up.

            "All right," I said, turning on Jack, "Care to explain why you left me with that dreadful man when you could have taken him on easily?"

            "Gladly!" said Jack amicably, "Firstly, I knew you'd find a way to escape again since you'd done it once before. And like I said, you'd make a right decent pirate with a proper sense of wanderlust, and a pirate always finds a way to make the Fates work in his or her favor."

            "I'm not a pirate!"

            "Aren't you? It's my understanding that you bribed a sailor to take you here; you could only come closer to piracy by commandeering your own ship. And one would never guess you're not one just by lookin' at ye."

            I looked down at myself; it had been a long time since I'd last looked in a mirror, and I was definitely more than a little shabby from the long voyage. My long hair, which hadn't been properly cleaned or even combed since I'd left England, had become wild and windblown. The skin at my throat and hands had darkened from constant exposure to the sun, and my ivory knife hung treacherously from a sturdy belt clasped around my waist. The only things vaguely aristocratic about my appearance were my gold ring and my traveling cloak; but even the cloak, once a brilliant, regal purple, had faded to a pale, grayish violet. I _did look like I could pass for a pirate. Suddenly I remembered to be angry and turned to face Jack again._

            "That's beside the point!" I said, "You could have taken Covington's men easily. Why did you give me up?"

            "It's not as easy as that," he said simply, "Never is. You see, love," he slung an arm over my shoulders heavily, "Master Covington is not entirely sane, and even a sane man can be difficult to predict, and therefore difficult to duel. I have encountered his type before. Tell me, did he by any chance threaten you at any point after he took you back to England?"

            "Well. . . Yes. He did. He pulled a gun on me, look."

            I reached into my knapsack and pulled out the pistol I'd taken from Covington. Jack's face darkened when he saw it, but only slightly. He turned it over in his hands, studying it curiously.

            "Definitely a noble's weapon," he said thoughtfully, "Took it from him yourself, did you?"

            "Just after he threatened to shoot me," I said proudly, "I managed to shame him into surrendering. I never would have got here otherwise. What is it, Jack?"

            A ghost of a smile passed across his lips. His expression was difficult to decipher, but it troubled me. He raised his dark eyes to meet mine and handed the gun back to me.

            "Well, darling, you've just given him all the more reason to come after ye," he said, "Now he knows you despise him, and he'll work even harder to force ye to submit to him."

            "How do you know that? And what makes you think he's insane? I mean, I'm sure you're right because I don't think he would have threatened me otherwise, but –"

            "I knew he was mad because of the look he had when he invited himself aboard me ship; it's a look I've seen more than once in my time, and it's not one I'll soon forget. It's the look of a jealous man, and a jealous man can act rashly and violently towards all those who stand between him and his prize. He won't think before coming out here for you; I expect he left shortly after you did, although he may not have figured where you've got to quite yet."

            "My God. . ."

            "What's more, he knows now that you despise him because you defied him. He knows now that your heart lies elsewhere. And," he smiled knowingly, exposing his gold teeth, "You have never called me Jack."

            I blushed furiously, turning away from him. So now he knew. . . How on earth was I supposed to respond to that?

            "It's only fitting," I said haughtily, "I'm not on your ship anymore, so I can't rightly call you 'Captain', can I?"

            "Whatever you say, love," he said.

            Then we went back inside to the others.


	11. Preparation and Anticipation

Author's Note: Hello all! Sorry this took so long – I had unforeseen computer troubles. (I'm sure you all know how that goes – blah! So frustrating!) This chapter is mostly just setting up the next one, so I'll get to that one as soon as I can. And this time I promise it won't take as long – I've just saved everything to a backup disc, so I have more padding for error now. Read on, tell me what you think!

Chapter 10: Preparation and Anticipation

            There was a lot to think about all the sudden. First was the fact that Covington was probably still chasing me. I hadn't the slightest idea what I'd do if I had to face him again, because I hadn't planned on meeting him again ever. Second, Jack had deduced my feelings for him. I had denied them of course, but I knew he wasn't fooled. I still didn't quite trust him, and I didn't like his knowing my little secret; it gave him an advantage over me. Also there was something Jack had hinted at that hadn't been spoken aloud, but I knew it all the same: he could never have beaten Covington on that ship. His crew may have overtaken Covington's in a battle, but as Jack had pointed out, Covington was becoming less than rational. He could have struck out unexpectedly, and if that had happened it would have been Jack who took the brunt of the blow; I had guessed at Covington's jealous streak myself, but not the extent to which it could aid him. I had a feeling Jack could guess that the rat would want to kill him as well, even though I had said nothing of the exchange between Covington and my dear old uncle. Oh, this was such a mess. . .

            I told Elizabeth some of my fears; she seemed the most trustworthy of the lot, apart from Anamaria of course. I asked her if Jack truly could be trusted and she assured me that he could.

            "I could never tell you what's in his head," she told me, "But he's a good man. He's hard to figure though. . . The first time I ever met him he rescued me from drowning, and immediately afterwards held a gun to my head."

            "What?" I laughed.

            "Yes, it's true! Needless to say, I found it hard to trust him myself for a long while after that. I never knew whose side he was on, but he came through in the end. I think he's just very selfish."

            "Even for a pirate you mean?"

            "Well, he looks after himself above anyone else. He's on his own side; no one else's. But if he can help his fellow man without any great injury to himself, he'll do it."

            "How long have you known him?"

            "Just a few years now, since just before he got back the Black Pearl."

            "Oh yes, Mr. Gibbs told me the story. How did it go, really? I mean, apart from the cursed gold and all that rubbish?"

            Elizabeth laughed darkly.

            "It's not rubbish, I'm afraid," she said, "I didn't believe it either at first, but I saw the proof of it with my own eyes: I spent two weeks aboard that ship with a crew of cadaverous pirates as my only company. You don't forget an episode like that easily."

            I was still skeptical, but I felt inclined to believe her. Whatever had happened, it had certainly been horrible, and Elizabeth had been caught alone in the midst of it. The one story I did believe wholeheartedly was that of her convincing Captain Barbosa to leave Port Royal. That seemed like a reasonably achievable feat, even if it did take a substantial amount of courage and determination. It had happened so close-by – I had even seen old signs of cannon fire when the Jubilee had come into port. And I had seen the size of the guns on the Black Pearl; they would have been difficult to overcome, if not impossible. The fact that Port Royal remained standing was proof enough for me that that particular incident had indeed taken place.

            In the meantime there was Covington to worry about. Jack told me that it was I would have to face him eventually, and I believed him. I had tried to convince myself otherwise for a while, but I knew that there was only one person that Covington would ever be satisfied in confronting: me. I was the one who had turned him down the first time he'd proposed, I was the one who had run away from him and others like him on a pirate ship, I was the one who had insulted him in front of his own crew the day he found me, and I was the one who had shamed him into letting me go again. I had disrespected him more than any other person he had ever known, and therefore he would either marry me or kill me when he finally found me again. I certainly had no intention of allowing the former, and so I had to learn how to defend myself in battle. Will, I discovered, had worked as a sword smith for many years before turning pirate himself, so he offered to make me a sword and train me in combat. I was extraordinarily grateful for his generosity, but unfortunately by the time my training began I had very little money left. I gave him the rest of my gold, promising him more once I found steady work. (I had taken up in a small cottage in a town that bordered Tortuga. What with all the comings and goings on the island, I was confident that a permanent baker or seamstress would be much appreciated.) But Will refused; he said he had worked for much lower pay, and for "lesser causes" as he put it.

            Anamaria left some weeks after that, and I went to the docks at dawn to see her off. She had gathered more hands for her crew, including Mr. Cotton, and intended to sail north and explore the Americas.

            "Come with me," she said, "Ye can be my first mate. An' ye can even seek yer fortune, just like you told me the day we met."

            I laughed.

            "I forgot about that," I said, "I can't come though. I have a score to settle; you know that."

            "Aye, I know. I'd almost like to stay, to see how it ends."

            "If it ends well, you'll be the first to know."

            "Good luck, Abby."

            "And the same to you. Take what you can."

            "An' give nothing back!"

            With that, she boarded her ship and made way for the elusive North. I was sad to see her go, but I knew how restless she was. She was a pirate after all, and a pirate's first love is of the open ocean. I couldn't deny her that. Besides, I had more pressing matters to attend to.

            My skill with the sword improved steadily, but as the months grew warmer and Covington still didn't appear, I began feeling anxious. There was much to do to keep me occupied: Elizabeth told me about the day she had first met Will, and the day he had finally confessed his love for her, as well as filling in some of the gaps in the story of the Black Pearl. There was an intriguing anecdote about her and Jack being marooned on a desert island by Captain Barbosa. I had heard the tale before, but when Mr. Gibbs had told it, it had included a farcical ending about Jack strapping a pair of sea turtles together to make a raft. Elizabeth's version painted her as the hero, but it was also far more plausible: she had tricked Jack into drinking himself to sleep with old rum that had been left on the island by rum runners, and then burned the rest of it herself to make a smoke signal and draw the attention of the Royal Navy. That was when I learned that she had been the governor's daughter on Port Royal, and suddenly her inscrutable grace and poise made sense. Will took me aboard his new ship and showed me around on deck. It was a beautiful ship, named the Dauntless, and had once belonged to the Royal Navy. But still I was forced to wait. Time stretched on and the days grew warmer still; I took to wrapping my long hair in blue scarf and tying it up to keep it off my neck, because it was just too hot otherwise.

            One day Elizabeth tried to help me untangle it, but our efforts were in vain. We had gone out on the porch of my little cottage to enjoy the fresh air; I sat in a wooden chair, attempting to get a comb through one particularly stubborn knot, and Elizabeth stood behind me, struggling with a different section.

            "It's right far gone," she said, yanking at my hair with the comb, "You shouldn't have let it go this long. I suppose you could always cut it –"

            "No!" I said, "No, I like it long. It's more trouble than it's worth, but it's still mine."

            "Have it your way, then. Any word from 'the rat' as you call him?"

            "Not yet. I'm getting tired of waiting – I'm beginning to think he's not coming after me at all."

            "Sure he is. He's just biding his time, probably."

            "Doing what? And in any case, I'd like to at least know where he is. I've half a mind to start looking for him myself."

            "No, you don't want to do that."

            "Why not?"

            "Because it might be just what he wants! I'll bet you anything he's convinced himself you're crazy about him – men have a way of completely ignoring the obvious when it comes to these sorts of things."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well, he asked you to marry him, didn't he? And he came after you even after you told him 'no.' You said yourself he seemed to think he was doing you a favor by taking you back to England – why shouldn't he think the same thing now?"

            "Because I told him so. I told him to his face I never wanted to marry him."

            "Yes, but it _has_ been a long time. He's had plenty of time to make up all sorts of mad reasons why you really ran away, and your not wanting to marry him will have nothing to do with any of them. In any case, don't go looking for him – that'll erase his doubts for sure."

            "Ouch!"

            "Oh, sorry!"

            I sighed.

            "It's all right," I said, dropping my comb in defeat, "I give up – it's as bad as Jack's."

            Elizabeth laughed then pulled up another chair to sit beside me.

            "It's not that bad," she assured me, "But it'll get there if you leave it long enough."

            I twisted my hair into a bun and tied the blue scarf around it again.

            "Speaking of Jack," said Elizabeth, "Have you noticed how . . . odd he's been acting lately?"

            "More than usual, you mean?"

            "Honestly, I think he's plotting something. You must have noticed the way he looks at you whenever Covington's name comes up?"

            "Covington? I haven't noticed anything – why? What is it you're getting at?"

            "Well. . . All right, but you didn't hear it from me."

            "Very well, go on."

            "I think he fancies you."

            "What?"

            I couldn't help blushing; I had been very careful not to let anyone else know about my feelings for Jack, but the thought of them being returned was absolutely ridiculous.

            "You really think so?" I asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

            "I can't be sure," said Elizabeth, "But whenever you bring up Covington. . . It's as if he thinks the rat might win you back."

            "That's completely absurd!"

            "Yes, I know you'd never want to go back to him, but Jack seems to think he could take you back by force or something. Listen, Mr. Gibbs told me what happened after you left the Black Pearl last year. He said Jack watched the other ship until long after it had gone past the horizon. I've seen him do that before, but only once."

            "When was that?"

            "It was when he and I were stranded on that island, and Barbosa and his crew sailed away in the Black Pearl. He said to me, 'That's the second time I've had to watch that man sail away with my ship,' and he didn't take his eyes off it until it was gone from the horizon. I know it seems silly for me to compare you to a ship – I'm sure it means nothing to you – but the man is a pirate, and a pirate's first love is –"

            "The open ocean; I know."

            I sighed heavily.

            "What's wrong, Abby?"

            "Nothing," I muttered.

            I slept very little that night. I was restless, just like I'd been the night Jack had kissed me. It wasn't just Elizabeth's insinuation; I didn't quite believe it, but it did make me a little uneasy. It was that in addition to Covington's continued absence, and more of the crew left the island every day. Sometime during the second week of my training with the sword, Mr. Gibbs took half a dozen of the Black Pearl's crew on a small boat to investigate an island some leagues away; there was a rumour drifting through the taverns lately about a strange – and very rich – man who had lost a ship, and was willing to pay handsomely for its return. Jack wasn't interested, but he was on the brink of hiring a new crew anyway so he let them go on without him. One thing that puzzled me was why Jack was waiting with me. I supposed he wanted to see how my situation with Covington played out, but something didn't seem right with him somehow. I began to notice the odd behavior Elizabeth had mentioned earlier; when Covington's name came up in conversation, his eyes lit up momentarily. It was subtle; he tensed just for an instant, and a quick look of nervous anticipation flickered across his features. It was almost nothing, but it was still there, and every so often I couldn't keep from wondering what it meant.


	12. A Lesson

Author's Note: Hello all! Thanks for all your glowing reviews, as always. And now for some *action.* I think you all know what I mean by that. (Wink, wink.) This chapter is one of my personal favorites – please let me know what you think!

Chapter 11: A Lesson

            It was now the dawn of spring, and I was becoming impatient and irritable because of the heat. Will, Elizabeth, Jack and I were the only ones left of our party. One night the four of us were standing out on a balcony at one of the taverns, watching the moon rise over the water. We were all thinking the same thing, but I was the first to voice it.

            "What do you reckon he's waiting for?" I said, not really expecting an answer.

            "Perhaps he's not coming after all," said Will.

            "Don't be ridiculous," said Elizabeth, "Of course he's coming. The question is why he's biding his time this much."

            "Well," said Will, turning to me, "When he does arrive, at least you'll be ready for him."

            "You think so?" I asked uncertainly.

            "Absolutely. You're improving every day, and you've got a restless spirit. He won't stand a chance."

            "Will, don't underestimate your enemy," Jack muttered, "That's always been your greatest weakness."

            "She's ready," Will insisted, "And Covington's not a pirate, Jack – he'll take her in a fair fight."

            "Really?" said Jack skeptically, "Then let's put her to the test, shall we?"

            He drew his sword and pointed it straight at my throat. I heard Elizabeth gasp sharply, but my own hand flew straight to the ivory knife at my waist and I met Jack's sword not a moment too soon.

            "Jack, are you mad?" asked Will angrily, "You can't fight up here – there's no room! I haven't taught her how to defend herself in such close quarters yet."

            But I heard his words only in the background of my consciousness. My eyes were locked on Jack's, and his on mine. He didn't say a word, but grinned slowly, showing the glint of his gold teeth in the eerie twilight. I uncoiled my arm and thrust his sword away from me. I quickly sheathed the knife again, drawing out my own sword in its place. But then Will stepped between Jack and me, forcing Jack to back away.

            "Enough of this nonsense," he said, "This isn't the time for one of your parlor tricks, Jack."

            "Will, get out of the way!" I yelled.

            I was burning with rage all the sudden; everything that had happened since I'd first seen the Black Pearl, all the indignities I'd suffered, the betrayals and unanswered questions I'd endured for the better part of a year now, came blasting to the surface. I had no choice but to let my anger be assuaged. Will looked back at me, alarmed, but he moved aside. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elizabeth take him aside and say something to him, but I couldn't hear her. I raised my sword, keeping Jack in my cold gaze.

            "Young Mr. Turner seems to think we've no room up here," he said quietly.

            "Details," I muttered, "I know how to improvise."

            Jack raised his sword and slid the blade along the edge of mine; his eyes glittered with a strange light I'd never seen in them before. And then, with a flash of bright steel and the crash of metal on metal, it began. Jack was stronger and far more experienced than I, and at first the force of his lunges nearly knocked me to my feet, but I never lost my grip. He kept me moving, forcing me backward into the tavern. I heard yells of surprise around us when we found ourselves back inside, but I focused my attention on Jack, never taking my eyes off him. Will and Elizabeth ran down to the floor of the tavern, trying to clear out the other patrons. I glanced down the stairs for half a second, and instantly Jack knocked my sword out of my hand. It clattered to the floor of the tavern as I watched, helpless, from the top of the stairs.

            "Watch your step, darling," said Jack, "Off you go."

            He kept his sword held out just inches away from me, heading me down the stairs. The tavern was completely empty now except for us; I got down to the floor and retrieved my sword quickly. My failure had infuriated me even more, and now I was hotly determined to prove myself.

            "Ye've proved a fine teacher, Will," called Jack, not taking his eyes off me, "But she needs a lot of work."

            I cried out in frustration and lunged at him. He blocked every one of my blows easily, but I managed to back him against a round wooden table and knock it over. This small victory gave me a rush of adrenaline, but it wasn't enough to keep me on my feet when he came back at me from an unexpected angle. I wasn't quick enough, and Jack had done this sort of thing much more often than I had. Not to mention his fighting style was radically different from Will's, whom I'd gotten used to sparring with. I fell to the right and had to catch myself on my hands, but my mind didn't slow down: I grabbed the leg of an overturned chair and flung in Jack's direction. It caught him in the knee and he stumbled, but he didn't fall. But it had taken him by surprise, giving me an opportunity to get back to my feet and come at him again.

            "It's not your form that's lacking," he said, still matching me blow for blow, "But Will has been a bit too courteous with you, I believe."

            He began backing me into a corner underneath balcony.

            "You've no experience," he said, "And you're clumsy."

            He knocked my sword away again; I whipped out my knife again, but this time he caught my wrist in his hand. I suddenly felt myself trapped with my back against the wall.

            "But you are determined," he said, with just a hint of admiration behind his patronizing tone.

            I was shaking with exhaustion and unquenched anger, but I was beaten. I opened my fingers and let the knife fall to the floor with a dull clatter.

            "Will! Elizabeth!" he called, "Give us a moment, would you?"

            I heard the door open and close, and then Jack and I were alone in the tavern. Jack let go of my wrist and backed away. He then sheathed his sword and pulled up the chair I'd thrown at him, settling into it lazily as if he'd just returned home from a vigorous day of sport and exercise. I glared at him, then bent down to pick up my knife and sword again.

            "You seem rather pleased with yourself," I muttered sulkily.

            "Do I?" he asked noncommittally, "You seem rather the opposite."

            "Well, why do you suppose that is?" I spat sarcastically.

            "Don't be so upset, love. I was only makin' a point."

            I turned away from him, crossing my arms in front of my chest, and took a seat near the bar. I felt completely disgusted with myself, mostly for failing to match Jack in a fight, but also for convincing myself that I'd fallen in love with him. How could I possibly have fallen for that dirty, chauvinistic, self-righteous scoundrel? A lump rose in my throat; I told myself it was just the bitterness of defeat, because I'd always been something of a sore loser, but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was more than that. I bit my lip and tried to squelch the feeling into nothingness.

            "The point is," said Jack, "You are _not_ ready. I realize you're anxious to give this fiancé of yours something substantial by which to remember you, but it's too soon yet. You must wait, just as he's doing."

            "For what?" I muttered, straining to keep my voice level.

            "For the opportune moment."

            "And you think you'd know better than I when that moment is – is that it?"

            I couldn't help it; my voice cracked. I ran a hand nervously through my hair, and suddenly realized that it had fallen down. My blue scarf must have come loose during the fight. I glanced back at Jack; he was eying me silently, expressionless. He had the blue scarf, and he was pulling it slowly through his fingers.

            "Jack, for God's sake, what is it?" I asked, "What do you expect me to do?"

            Jack frowned, but said nothing. I turned away from him again, and a cold silence filled the empty tavern. I didn't bother biting back my tears this time; I let them run hot and salty down my cheeks until they were all gone. I felt drained afterwards, but marginally better than before.

            "Abby, come here."

            "Why?"

            He didn't answer; I rose grudgingly and moved closer to him. He got to his feet and moved around behind me, then lifted the scarf and tied it over my eyes. My hands shot up to my face when I realized what he was doing and I tried to tear the scarf away.

            "Jack, what are you –"

            "Relax, will you?" he said impatiently, "And listen closely, because this is very important: I will never hurt you Abby. Never. Understand?"

            "No."

            I heard him sigh heavily, then felt the air change as he moved in front of me again. I raised my arms blindly, trying to find him. I didn't like not knowing where he was.

            "I'm not an honest man, Abby, but I am being honest right now, therefore I advise you to pay attention. I will never hurt you, but at the state you're in presently, that wretched fiancé of yours may very well be able to."

            "He's not my fiancé – he thinks he is, but he's not. He's a delusional cur and I want nothing to do with him."

            I tried to pry the edge of the scarf upward; why had he tied it so tight?

            "Yes, I know that bit," said Jack, "And I'm trying to help you, but if you don't cooperate it's going to be exceedingly difficult. Now," he took both my hands and led me to a different place in the tavern, "The first problem is you are too easily distracted. If you intend to fight against a madman, you will need to be able to focus. Stay here," he let go of my hands; I heard him move away again, "So we are going to try again, and this time don't rely on your eyesight so much."

            "Do I have a choice?"

            "Draw your sword."

            I obeyed; this was going to be a long night. I raised my sword and waited, listening intently for any cue as to Jack's whereabouts.

            "Hold perfectly still," he said quietly, "And then tell me how you are going to strike me down."

            I heard a metallic swoosh next to my ear and swung my sword around blindly; I hit nothing but air. I could hear Jack laughing somewhere to my left, and I stumbled forward, trying to get at him. He caught me by the arm and pulled me back to where I'd started.

            "Stop that, calm down," he said, "Try again, and this time hold still."

            "And then what?"

            Again I heard his sword swish through the air, and again I raised my own sword.

            "Be still!" said Jack.

            I froze.

            "Now, where is my sword?" he asked.

            Almost subconsciously, I felt my body relax and my senses grew more acute. I held still, forcing myself to wait until I was sure my next move would be on-target. Jack wasn't moving; he was waiting for me. I could feel small, subtle differences in the temperature of the air around me. There was a distinct cold hovering just above my left ear, near my throat. I raised my sword and, guessing at Jack's distance from me, lifted it at a sharp angle across my front. I felt it meet Jack's sword and pushed it away.

            "Very good," said Jack admirably, "Try again; faster this time."

            I backed away and waited. Again I felt a change in the air as Jack swept his sword through the air, and this time I blocked him almost instantly. He came at me again; I wasn't prepared for that, but I blocked him again, even quicker this time.

            "Mind your feet," he said, and he began forcing me backward again.

            This time I steeled myself and went forward. I could hear the sword coming from every angle, and found myself blocking more skillfully than ever before. I overbalanced once and nearly fell, but Jack caught me and helped me to my feet again.

            "That'll do for tonight, I believe," he said.

            I heard him slide his sword back in its sheath, and I did the same. I was fantastically excited about this new achievement; who'd have thought I would be able to fence blindfolded? I reached up and tried to pull the scarf off. I felt Jack's arms go around me as he untied the scarf for me.

            "Do you think I'm ready for him now?" I asked, lowering my hands.

            "No," he said simply, "But you're a good deal nearer than you were just half an hour ago."

            The scarf came undone. I reached up and pulled it away; I opened my eyes. Jack was looking down at me strangely. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then changed his mind.

            "Thank you," I said quietly.

            He didn't say anything, but turned and left the tavern.


	13. The Chase Begins

Author's Note: Hello again everyone! Once again, sorry for the delay – it's all Isabel's fault. (The Hurricane, for those of you not on the East Coast like me.) I was computerless for a week – oh, it was horrible! But I'm back now, and there are a couple things I want to say before launching into the next chapter: First of all, I want to say a very, very sincere thank you to "Florida" – I've honestly never been so touched by a review, and you sound like you really know what you're talking about. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy and stuff! Also, a HUGE thanks to all my regular readers, both old and new, for sticking with me through all my sporadic writing periods; I'm so glad you're still enjoying this story!

Okay, now this chapter is the beginning of a huge turning point in Jack and Abby's "relationship." It might be a little confusing at first, but just hang on – the second half of the "turning point" will come in later. As always, please let me know what you think, and don't forget that constructive criticism is more than welcome!

Chapter 12: The Chase Begins

            Slowly, I began to trust Jack again. His sword lesson taught me more than just how to fight blindfolded: it taught me that, however strange and selfish his methods seemed, his motives were good. He was selfish, that much was certain, but I'd believed him when he told me he'd never hurt me. Elizabeth was right: he was a good man. I turned the matter over in my head a great deal over the next few days, and although I still felt that some pieces of the puzzle were missing, I was for the most part satisfied. And so it came as an even greater shock to me when Jack took it upon himself to "commandeer" Will's ship.

            It happened just a few short days after my blind sword lesson. It was very early, and I had gone out on the docks to watch the sunrise. I was feeling particularly anxious; rumour had it that a ship that matched Covington's in description had recently come into port somewhere in the Virgin Islands. Will was readying the Dauntless when I got there; he had said the night before that he needed to go off-shore for supplies, so it was no surprise really so see him there. More surprising was when Jack appeared at my side shortly after that.

            "Any news since last night?" I asked him.

            "Aye," he said darkly, "The rat has washed up on the isle of Saint Thomas."

            "How far?"

            "A week at most, probably less. If the weather holds we can reach it in four days."

            He was staring fixedly at Will as the younger man moved clutter and tangled ropes on deck.

            "Where is Elizabeth, I wonder?" he asked.

            "I'm not sure," I replied, slightly apprehensive, "Still asleep, I suppose."

            "Indeed. . ."

            A strange smile flickered across his face.

            "You're not thinking of going out there, are you?" I asked, "Because, you know, he'd kill you if he ever saw you. You know that, don't you?"

            "Then I'll just have to take care he doesn't see me, won't I?"

            "But we can't go after him! I wanted to, but Elizabeth said I shouldn't. She said we'd just be doing exactly what he expects."

            "Did she now?"

            That decided him. Jack strode boldly up the gangway and onto the deck of the Dauntless. Unsure of what else to do, I ran after him. Will stood up to face Jack when he appeared on deck.

            "I don't think I need any help, Jack," he said, "I'll be leaving in just a few minutes."

            "Ah, wonderful!" said Jack satisfactorily.

            Then he went straight to the helm and took the wheel, examining the strange compass he always kept with him. Will glanced back at me questioningly. I could only shrug.

            "I dunno," I said, "I think he wants to go after Covington."

            Will ran to the bow to stop him, but Jack was ready for him. He pulled his sword out and turned to face Will. I felt my mouth drop open in shock; I had never dreamed Jack would stoop so low.

            "We will require a change of course, Mr. Turner," he said matter-of-factly, "We are making for Saint Thomas."

            But Will was undaunted. He drew his own sword and faced Jack boldly.

            "I will not take orders aboard my own ship," he said evenly, "Especially not from you. Now remove yourself from the helm."

            Jack only smiled.

            "You forget," he said, "You could only beat me in a fair fight, and I have no intention of fighting fair."

            The first clash of the swords caught me off-guard; I hadn't really believed they would fight each other, or at least hadn't wanted to believe it. I watched horrorstruck for several seconds, then threw myself at Jack to pull him away.

            "Jack, don't!" I cried, "You can't do this!"

            The fight ceased immediately when I came into the middle of it; neither of them wanted to hurt me. But Jack threw me off roughly, clearly unhappy with the notion of being questioned, and even more so by being forced to put up his sword.

            "This is not your call, Abby," he said.

            "Well, it's certainly not yours," I returned hotly, "The decision to go and challenge my own fiancé should be mine and no one else's."

            "Calm down, Abby," said Will, but I paid no attention.

            "The problem of Covington," said Jack, "Is just as much mine as it is yours, darling. As you pointed out yourself, he may very well want to see me hanged if he ever finds me again, and because I don't believe you can get rid of him entirely on your own, I have a responsibility to myself to make sure he's got rid of so he won't be a bother for me anymore either."

            "That can't be all there is to it!" I argued passionately, "I know you're not just looking after your own interests, Jack. You love me, I know it!"

            There it was. Out in the open, finally. I was met with cold silence, save for the trembling beat of my own heart, restless against my ribcage. I had no choice but to wait for a response, and suddenly I was more afraid than I had ever been in my short life. Jack stared at me coolly; I couldn't tell whether he was upset with me for revealing his feelings for me, or just annoyed at my outburst. The silence weighed heavily on us all, and I began to panic: Had I gotten it wrong? Was he truly just looking after his own interests, as always? Finally Jack let out an exasperated breath and slid his sword back into the sheath at his side.

            "Abigail," he said quietly, "Regardless of what you've chosen to believe, the fact remains that Master Covington needs to be taken care of. I cannot take the Black Pearl because he would recognize it, and we'll want to catch him unawares. However, this ship," he gestured vaguely at the deck we were standing on, "Is not mine to command, and therefore I saw the need to take it by force. My apologies Will, but I had my doubts that you'd simply let me borrow it for any length of time."

            "They were not ungrounded," said Will unnecessarily.

            I lowered my heard and bit my lower lip hard to stop my tears; I'd never felt so humiliated, or so vulnerable. I'd done it again: I'd tipped my hand too early, and now I was entirely at Jack's mercy.

            "Abby?" Will called softly.

            I turned, shamefaced, and saw Will looking at me earnestly.

            "Do you need this ship?" he asked simply.

            I stared at him uncertainly for a moment, then found myself answering "yes." He nodded, sheathing his own sword as he did so.

            "Very well," he said, "Go and fetch Elizabeth – tell her what's happened, and tell her we're making for the isle of Saint Thomas. We'll need provisions for a week's voyage. In the meantime, I'd like a word with Jack alone."

            I nodded and left the ship, trying to ignore the inexplicable weakness in my legs.

            "The man is insufferable!" exclaimed Elizabeth, stuffing another dress into her bag, "Honestly, if he thinks he can just – _parade onto our ship and take over –"_

            She ended with an exasperated groan and stormed to the dresser to take down her comb and knife. I had just told her the whole story, and she wasn't pleased. Just before setting the comb and knife in her bag, she turned back to me.

            "Mark my words," she said fiercely, "I'll have that Jack Sparrow off the Dauntless by nightfall. I'll fight him myself if I have to!"

            I laughed; it was more a release of nervous tension than an expression of amusement.

            "I will!" she insisted, misinterpreting the sound, "You hold me to it – don't let me change my mind."

            "No," I said, "It's not that. It's just that . . ."

            I threw up my hands in a gesture of uncertainty. I felt a lump in my throat again as I realized what a perfect disaster this whole situation was. I put my hand to my forehead as the tears finally came up.

            "Oh, Abby," said Elizabeth sympathetically when she saw what was happening.

            She put an arm around my shoulders and sat me down on the edge of the bed.

            "Don't worry," she said, "We'll get this all sorted out. It's just a matter of time, that's all."

            "I shouldn't have said anything," I sobbed, "I should've just left them alone – I had no business getting into the middle of the fight like that."

            "Oh, don't be silly," said Elizabeth, "You were right to break it up. You haven't done anything wrong. And personally, I don't think they would've stopped if you hadn't said what you did."

            "But now everything's so. . ."

            I couldn't find words to express my despair, so I just covered my face with my hands and cried some more.

            "It's not so bad," Elizabeth assured me, "You'll be facing your betrothed in a week, and with everything you've been through since I've known you, I'm sure you'll be ready to face him by that time. Now come on," she lifted her knapsack and shepherded me to the door, "Don't lose your head; you're not entirely on your own, you know."

            She gave me an understanding smile and we left for the docks. Now, I had always known that Elizabeth was headstrong and fierce, but I at this point I had yet to see those particular traits set in motion. And as I watched her marching resolutely down the dock to the Dauntless, her jaw set and her eyes blazing, it dawned on me that I had just never seen her properly enraged before. She flung her knapsack aside when we reached the deck and strode right up to Jack, who was now leaning against the starboard gunwale, his legs stretched lazily out in front of him.

            "I hope you're pleased with yourself, Jack Sparrow!" she spat, setting her hands on her hips.

            "Eh?" muttered Jack, tipping up the edge of his hat as if only just seeing her.

            "Don't play innocent with me, you ungrateful prat! You'd probably still be stuck on that island if it weren't for me; Will saved you from the gallows twice, with great risk to his own life, and this is how you repay us?"

            Jack settled back against the ship, apparently convinced that the conversation wasn't worth the effort, and mumbled something I didn't hear.

            "That's beside the point!" fumed Elizabeth, "You _tried_ to steal it, and that's enough to count as a betrayal as far as I'm concerned."

            "Elizabeth, darling, don't overexert yourself," Jack replied lazily, "We've a week's sailing ahead of us."

            "How dare you! You've no right to talk to me like that – Why, if it weren't for Abby, I'd –"

            "Um, Elizabeth?" I pleaded, "Please don't bring me into this."

            Then I saw Will come down from the helm.

            "Calm down, love," he said, "I've spoken with him already – it's been taken care of. Abby needs the ship."

            "Must he stay aboard?" asked Elizabeth, gesturing at Jack, "If we're doing this for Abby, then –"

            "I want him to stay," I said, "I'd like a word with him myself before this trip is over."

            "Very well," said Elizabeth, "Whatever you want, but I'd prefer it if he stayed locked up below. I don't want him tampering with this ship."

            "He won't cause any trouble," Will assured her, "I told you, I've already spoken to him."

            Our debate carried on in this manner for quite some time, until Jack tipped his hat up once more and raised his voice above ours'.

            "Would one of you be so kind as to wake me when you've decided what to do with me?" he asked dryly.

            As it happened, Jack was neither locked below deck nor sent away from the ship. But he did take care to keep out of Elizabeth's way during the first day of our voyage. He kept his word to Will and did not make another attempt to take over the vessel, but I suspected that was only because he knew that he would need our cooperation to sail anywhere, and none of us would have been willing to give it if he'd tried to take over again. He never mentioned my outburst, and this troubled me. I spent as much time as I could mulling the situation over in solitude, and took to the crow's nest often to ensure my privacy. I knew there was still something missing, but I couldn't decide what.


	14. MuchDelayed Disclaimer, no reviews neces...

Disclaimer: I know it's sort of a given on a site like this, but just so I don't get sued or anything, I don't own any of the characters from the movie _Pirates of the Caribbean_, they all belong to Disney (I think, except for Jack Sparrow who clearly belongs to Johnny Depp), and the only characters of my own creation are Abby, Covington, Abby's Uncle Roland, and all the folks aboard the Jubilee. *phew* Okay, glad that's taken care of. I always forget to do that…


	15. Jack's Confession

Author's Note: Hello all! My apologies for the unusually long delay – I've been out of town recently. Anyways, thank you all so much for your support; I know there's lots and lots of "Pirates" fics out there, and the fact that you all saw fit to give mine some attention really means a lot. I've been editing this chapter pretty extensively; it's the mushiest, schmaltziest thing I've ever written, and I'm not sure how you're going to feel about that. . . I did my best to make it as un-cheesy as possible, and I think I did pretty well, but if anyone has any further suggestions to make it better (Ms. Critique, I'm looking in your direction) they would be more than welcome! In any case, on with the schmaltz. Please, let me know what you think!

Chapter 13: Jack's Confession

            One night I lay awake in my cabin and went through all the events leading up to that moment, trying to determine whether I'd missed some important detail along the way. I was lying in my bed, trying to relax both my body and mind but failing. The ship churned back and forth in the Caribbean waters; there was none of the steady rocking that usually helped put me to sleep, but only the jostling of the chop, as if the sea itself shared my restlessness. I shifted in my bed and turned my thoughts over in my mind once more. The one piece I kept coming back to was that first night in Tortuga, when Jack and I were talking outside the tavern. It was then that he had explained why he'd left me with Covington: the other man was too insane to fight, he'd said. Jack would have been no match for him. But then I thought of our fencing lesson more recently, and I realized that I myself had been more than a little insane that night: I had honestly wanted to kill him right then. Granted I wasn't a particularly accomplished swordswoman, but surely I could have taken on someone less accomplished than Jack, and I was certain Covington himself fell into that category. Had Jack lied to me? It was possible, but I couldn't fathom why a pirate would lie in order to make himself appear less battle-ready. Why on earth would he do that? I got up and began pacing back and forth along the length of the cabin, trying to avoid the inevitable. But finally I braced myself, took a deep breath and pulled on my dressing gown.

            "You've got to talk to him," I told myself sternly, "There's no getting around it."

            I put a hand on the latch of door and resolutely pulled it open. I knew Jack had a habit of walking around on deck when the moon was out, so I had intended to go up the hatch and try to find him there, but as I left my cabin I heard a noise in the deck below me. I wandered downstairs, away from the hatch, and followed the soft, clacking noises into the kitchen. There I found Jack, sitting at one of the rickety tables, fidgeting absently with a piece of cutlery. He glanced up when I came in; his gaze was cold.

            "What are you doing here?" I asked.

            "My apologies, love," he said flatly, "I didn't realize this cabin was off-limits for me now."

            His hostility caught me off-guard; I hadn't realized what a blow it was for him to be allowed on-board without being in control.

            "You don't have to get angry with me," I said defensively.

            "You shouldn't have come between us."

            "I was afraid you'd have killed Will if I hadn't."

            "I had no intention of killing anyone. If you'd left me to my own devices you would have realized that."

            "Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

            "Abby, ever since you came aboard my ship you've been meddling in matters of which you have absolutely no understanding. You've tried at every turn to take matters into your own hands, and regardless of what you've chosen to believe that is one sure way to get yourself killed in this world."

            "Well in that case I apologize. For trying to use my own brain instead of letting you do all the work."

            He raised his cold eyes to mine, and for the first time I was no longer chilled by his disapproving stare; I wasn't afraid of him.

            "I know you think you're infallible," I said evenly, moving closer to him, "But this isn't your fight – it's mine. So whether you choose to admit it or not, at some point you're going to have to step back and let me take matters into my own hands; I have to face Covington alone. And if I end up getting myself killed, so be it. At least I'll know it was my own decision to do so."

            He could see that I was right; he didn't argue. I cautiously sat down in one of the empty chairs near him.

            "Listen," I said, "I need to talk to you."

            "Do you now?" he asked unemotionally.

            "Why did you lie to me?"

            "On which occasion?"

            "Jack, please. I just want to know the truth. I know you could have beaten Covington that day on the Black Pearl. Why didn't you? Why did you give me up?"

            "Abby, I've told you –"

            "No, don't tell me it's because he's insane. That's not good enough. If that were the case, there's no way I'd be able to fight him, and that's just what you expect me to do."

            "This may or may not be a fight you can win, Miss Jackson."

            "Why are you tagging along, then? What's so different about it this time? You gave me up easily enough when Covington caught me before – why not do the same thing now?"

            "Because I don't want to lose you again!"

            He threw down the knife he'd been fiddling with. I wasn't ready for that. An ominous silence filled the room. I held my silence and waited.

            "Don't look so shocked," he said in a low, dangerous voice, "That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"

            I opened my mouth, to respond, but it was as if the capacity for rational thought had left me. I averted my eyes and tried not to feel his penetrating gaze on me.

            "I understand your coming between Will and myself, but I'm afraid you and young Turner suffer from the same affliction: you're too honest. I'm not the only one aboard this ship who fancies himself infallible."

            It was a cruel blow, but it was true. I nodded quietly.

            "I know," I said.

            Another short silence followed, and then I sensed Jack moving closer to me.

            "I sent you away because . . ." he began, "Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning. All my life I've been traveling, seeking out glory and riches and making a name for myself that would surely inspire fear and admiration across the seven seas. But here is something you may not know: every pirate goes hunting for treasure time and time again not to obtain great wealth – that feat is acquired easily, and within a relatively short amount of time. But every pirate is looking not for many different treasures, but a certain one. Something that will make his lawless, rootless existence worthwhile. I thought I'd found mine when I came into possession of the Black Pearl; I'd never felt so . . . satisfied, so complete as when I was aboard that ship. And when it was taken from me I fought with my own life to get it back. But some months ago, I realized I had never once found any treasure worth keeping. I endangered my own life and others' for the Pearl, it's true, but the reason I was so determined was merely to satisfy my own greed. I thought I needed that ship, and I would have done anything to get it back. But when I met you. . . Abby, I make a point of avoiding mistakes. I have never allowed myself to falter, and when I do I somehow manage to make it appear like a piece of some brilliant plan, and ultimately I always reach my goal. But when you came aboard I realized I could no longer think clearly. Do remember what you told me when I asked if you'd be followed?"

            "I said I wouldn't be."

            "You said 'I doubt it.' You can't lie, Abby. It's not in you. I should have realized right then that taking you aboard was a terrible mistake, possibly the worst mistake I've made in my entire life. But I took you in anyway, and now I'm in a worse fix than I could have ever dreamed of. You see, I've never met an enemy I could not defeat, and I've never found a treasure I could not take by force, but some weeks after you came on board I realized. . ."

            I looked up. I had an idea what he was trying to tell me, and I knew it had to be difficult for him. But I didn't know what to say to make it easier. What could I have said? I'd done enough already. But I couldn't stand the pained look in his eyes as they gazed deeply into mine. I had to end it somehow.

            "It's true then?" I asked gently.

            He looked away.

            "I'm sorry," I whispered.

            The peaceful understanding that had momentarily existed between us shattered like glass. It was my fault; I should have kept silent. I wanted so badly to take it all back, and not just my words but everything. Right then I wished I'd never met him. It would have been a dull, monotonous life with Covington, but at least I wouldn't have to feel the pain of true heartbreak, and the knowledge that I'd brought it on myself. Better than that I wouldn't have to wonder whether I'd just broken his heart as well. But then Jack spoke again, and his voice was different. In place of the careless, flowery drawl I'd begun to expect from him was a low, thoughtful baritone. It was so sad, but beautiful.

            "I could have beaten that man, it's true. But if I had . . . You told me that no one would miss you, and I took that to mean you had no one who cared for you at all in your old life. I did care for you. Not at first, but something changed in me when you told me that. I realized then that I could never truly have you unless you chose to give yourself to me. You ran away from me that night, just before Covington's ship finally caught us. I thought you had made your decision then."

            "Oh no," I said miserably, "So it is my fault."

            "No, no it isn't," said Jack, and he reached out to take both my hands in his, "You must never think that. I misunderstood – the fault was mine, and I'm sorry. But after that, the other ship reached us. I don't believe in coincidence, and I never have, and so I knew what I had to do when that man came aboard asking for you. I had to let you go. It was a test, Abby. I had to see if you'd come back to me. Otherwise I could never be sure that this was where you wanted to be."

            Suddenly I realized my cheeks were wet; when had I started crying? Jack reached up to touch my cheek, gently wiping my tears away.

            "Abby, I'm so sorry," he said softly, "I've caused you so much pain these past months. Can you ever forgive me?"

            No one had ever spoken to me with such open honesty. He must have really trusted me to let me see him in such an unshielded, vulnerable light. When I realized that I almost couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. But I did, and there I saw endless warmth and devotion, coupled with deep sorrow as he waited for my answer. I lifted my hand and moved my fingers along the contours of his face. His eyes closed and he leaned in close to me. Our faces nearly touched; I could feel his breath against my cheek, just like I had that one night when he'd come to me on the deck of the Pearl. My forefinger hovered at the edge of his mouth.

            "Say it," I whispered.

            He opened his eyes and met my gaze uncertainly.

            "Please," I repeated, "I need to hear it."

            I saw a light of understanding appear in his dark eyes as he realized what I meant. He took hold of both my hands again and gazed at me sublimely.

            "I love you, Abby," he said.

            I smiled.

            "Then I forgive you," I said, "And I love you too."

            Then I pressed even closer to him and we kissed. His hand slid to the base of my neck and he pulled me into the kiss. It's impossible to accurately describe what a miracle it is when two people who love each other deeply, but have for one reason or another kept their distance from one another, finally find their love realized. It was like a quiet fire had lain dormant inside each of us since the day we'd met, and over time it had grown and smoldered, eating away at our very souls so much that it could only be quenched if released, if we allowed ourselves to be consumed by it. This time I led him to _my_ cabin.


	16. The Isle of St Thomas

Author's Note: My apologies for the way long delay; I think my problem is I just have too many stories going at once. (In addition to the ones I have here, I mean.) But anyway, it looks like I have some explaining to do before I go on this time: first of all, thanks so, so much to all my devoted readers for keeping up and being so patient with me! Secondly, Ms. Critique: I understand what you're saying about Jack seeming out of character – that was part of my concern, really – but reworking the entire scene the way you suggested would undermine my goals for their relationship, I think. Also, I'm of the opinion that Jack is indeed fairly eloquent, but it's not a trait he lets come out a lot of the time. I always took his "joviality" as you put it to be part of a mask he uses to keep others from knowing what he's up to. And like you said, it is "unexplored territory," so to a certain degree I feel like I can take a few liberties with it.

D: I'm sorry you had trouble with Jack's speech, but it seems like you've gotten the main gist of it. There are two real reasons Jack sent Abby away. The first was what he told her: he wanted to test her and see if she'd come back for him. The second isn't really something I wanted to go that far into (just because it would require me to use Jack's P.O.V. which I can't do because I'm writing in First Person) is that he didn't want to fall in love. He thought it would get in the way of his own ego for one thing, and for another he was afraid he would just lose his head in a battle if he was preoccupied worrying about her.

*whew*

Okay, that said, here is another chapter! Please read and review – hope it was worth the wait!

Chapter 14: The Isle of St. Thomas

            It was a night like none other, but of course I had expected nothing less. Jack pulled me into a crushing embrace and then kissed me so softly I wanted to cry. I let my arms circle his neck and kissed him back, deeper. I can't remember any exact details; just images, and scattered sensations, all of them wonderful. I remember the feel of his coarse shirt under my fingers, and the way I let my hands get tangled up in his wild black hair. I remember the warmth of his strong arms around me, his breath against my skin, and the taste of his kisses. I still marveled at how gentle he was with me, never handling me roughly, but touching my face softly and giving me slow, passionate kisses until I was reeling with a desire to give it all back to him tenfold, to make him feel as much pleasure as I was feeling. I had never let a man make love to me before, but I didn't even think twice about the matter. I was in love, and that was that. What else was there to consider? So I stayed in his arms all night, and I fell asleep to the sound of his deep, rhythmic breathing.

            I was almost surprised to find him still with me when I awoke. I stirred as the first light of dawn filtered in through the porthole at the foot of my bed. I sat up and saw Jack, already awake, kneeling near the foot of the bed and gazing fixedly out the porthole. I wished he would come back to me and hold me again – I was so blissfully exhausted from our exploits the night before – but I sensed something was amiss.

            "What is it?" I asked groggily, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

            He looked back at me, his eyes dark with foreboding.

            "We've come upon Saint Thomas," he said simply.

            So it was time. Our romance would have to be interrupted for a while. I nodded.

            "What do we do now?" I asked fearfully.

            "'We' will do nothing," he answered, turning away from the porthole and coming back to me, "_You_ will join Will and Elizabeth on deck and take the ship into port. _I_ will wait here – Covington must not be allowed to know of my presence here until the opportune moment."

            He reached down to move a lock of hair away from my forehead.

            "When will that be?" I asked.

            "It's impossible to say yet," said Jack, "But when the time comes, I'll know."

            He continued sweeping my hair back, rhythmically, almost methodically. My eyes closed.

            "Will I?"

            The repetitive sweeping stopped. I opened my eyes again; Jack grinned slowly.

            "I daresay you might," he said cryptically, "But in the meantime, make for the deck. Ye've quite a job to do, and you'll need to be ready for it."

            I crept closer to him, slung my arms lazily around his neck and pulled him down to me.

            "I wish I didn't have to leave you again," I whispered.

            I felt Jack's arms go around me. He held me close, and we lay still in each other's embrace. Suddenly I realized this would be our last embrace for God only knew how long; I shuddered inwardly and held him tighter.

            "It's not goodbye forever, love," he whispered, pressing me to him, "You'll do all right – the rat won't know what hit him. I almost pity him, knowing ye'll be coming for him soon."

            I laughed. Jack kissed me lightly on the forehead.

            "There's a good girl," he said, "Now get on upstairs; you've got a long day ahead of you."

            But I hesitated, reluctant to leave his arms.

            "When will I see you again?" I asked.

            Jack said nothing for a while, and I felt him sigh against my cheek.

            "Don't think of me," he said sternly, "It will never do to distract yourself that way. Now go, or I might never let ye out of my sight again."

            I was tempted to see just how far he would carry out such a threat, but I understood the gravity of our situation well enough not to do so. I disentangled myself from him, dressed, and headed upwards to the deck. The dawn was bright, flooding the air with white-yellow sunlight and stinging my eyes when I first emerged. I saw Will's silhouette at the helm, steering us towards a small port just a few boat-lengths away. I moved further out onto the deck, but just then I just then I heard Elizabeth's voice coming down to me from the crow's nest.

            "Abby!" she called.

            "Aye?" I answered, looking up.

            "He's off to port bow," she said, "Look!"

            She folded her telescope and tossed it down to me. I caught it deftly, then raised it to my eye and looked in the direction she had indicated. I saw a familiar ship docked a few knots away from us. Sure enough, there was Covington's flag, flying high in the breeze atop the mast of that very same ship that had taken me back to England against my will so many long months ago. I lowered the telescope slowly and cold rage began to simmer in my veins again. Elizabeth swung gracefully down from the crow's nest and came to my side.

            "That is him, isn't it?" she asked, taking the telescope back from me.

            "Yes," I said, "It's him."

            I stared fixedly at the flag; it was funny, really, for it to be such a lovely morning. The day bloomed on us gently, painting the sky with warm pastel pinks and blues, and a light breeze moved the ship steadily onward. It seemed almost as if the weather was mocking us, for I had never felt so ill at ease: now that we had reached our destination, I realized once again that I had no idea what to do next.

            "What are you going to do now?" asked Elizabeth, as if sensing my anxiety.

            "I don't know," I said, "I suppose I ought to find him and confront him, but what then? I can't just attack him straight on, can I?"

            "You could," said Elizabeth thoughtfully, "But it would undermine your purpose I think. You want him to know what it is you're trying to accomplish by coming here, so you'll want to speak to him first, if only so it's clear to him why you're attacking him once it comes to that."

            "Yes, but . . ."

            "What is it, Abby?"

            "Well, I . . . I guess I never really thought about it before. I was so anxious to just do _something_ that I didn't think clearly. I have no plan of action whatsoever; all I know is that I want him to leave me alone and never try to find me again."

            "You could at least try to reason with him, I suppose. You may not need to fight him at all. But what if he proves himself unreasonable?"

            "Then I'll fight him. But I won't strike the first blow."

            Elizabeth nodded. We reached the docks then, and Will called for us to come forward and help him tie the lines down. Elizabeth knew the ropes better than I – it was her ship after all – but I did my part and before long we were secured to the dock. I then went back down the hatch to gather my things and come ashore. I hadn't brought much with me – only some clean things in my knapsack, a few shillings and my knife of course. Jack was no longer in the room at that point; I didn't take much notice of his absence just then. Why should he stay confined in one room for the duration of his hiding? But when I came back on deck I happened to glance to my left, over the starboard hull; there was a small shape adrift on the sunlit waters, moving steadily away from the ship. I straightened and went closer to the gunwale, squinting after the shape. It could very well have been a stray rowboat – such a thing would hardly be out of place in this setting – and I almost mistook it for that. But I stayed a moment longer, and just then a stiff breeze blew across the deck. The breeze rippled across the water, finally reaching the little rowboat and its master. A long red scarf fluttered into the air, whipping momentarily around the rower's shoulders. My mouth dropped open in stunned disbelief.

            "Jack!" I cried, rushing to the edge of the gunwale.

            I heard commotion behind me as Will and Elizabeth came running to my side. Will whipped out his telescope and peered out after the rowboat. There was no mistaking it: it was him. Elizabeth made an exasperated noise, peering coldly after the boat.

            "I don't know what to tell you, Abby," she said apologetically, "Honestly though, I can't say I'm surprised."

            "Neither am I," agreed Will, lowering the telescope, "There's no man alive who could tell you how that pirate's mind works."

            There was nothing we could do. I had half a mind to take another boat and go after him, but what good would that do? He would only get angry with me for second-guessing whatever brilliant plan he was doubtlessly trying to set in motion. So we went ashore, and Will and Elizabeth left me for a moment to discuss something. (I didn't ask what – it seemed important, but I had no business prying.) I myself headed in the direction of the other port we had seen, where Covington's ship was tied. I had to follow a dusty dirt road along the edge of the island, shaded by thick tropical plants that bloomed with sweet, wild flowers. I was grateful for the shade, and the tangy scent of the flowers gave me an odd sense of wild freedom, but when I came to the other side and saw the ship again my courage began to falter. I stopped. Covington's crest billowed high in the air at the top of the mast, and the growing daylight held the great ship in a scorching spotlight.

            _I wonder if anyone's still aboard, I thought to myself._

            I swallowed hard, shifted my knapsack on my shoulder, and moved forward. I walked slowly up the gangplank and onto the deck, listening to my footsteps echo beneath the hollow wood. There was the door to the cabin, where Covington's quarters were. There was the bow where I had stood, watching the horizon for any sign of the Black Pearl. And there, tied to the side of the hull, was the boat in which they had taken me away, back to this same ship, back to England and the life I had despised so much. It was so surreal being there again, this time on an empty deck, and there by my own will with the knowledge that I had sought this vessel out myself. The ship creaked and wallowed in the shallow water. But then another sound entered my consciousness: it was faint, barely perceptible, but it was still there. A footstep, deliberately soft and careful, as someone crept up behind me. In one swift motion I dropped my knapsack to the deck, unsheathed my sword, and spun around to face the intruder. Before me stood a smartly-uniformed sailor, a boy of about seventeen, with wide round eyes and a plain but honest face. At the moment his gaunt face was pale with surprised terror, and his round eyes were fixed on the tip of my sword, held precariously just inches from his straight nose.

            "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," he said shakily, "But why are you aboard this ship?"

            I lowered my sword curiously; this boy was far from the fearsome attacker I had been expecting.

            "I'm looking for Germaine Covington," I said evenly, "This is his ship, is it not?"

            "Aye, miss," said the boy, still eyeing my sword, "But there's no one aboard, except me."

            "Is that so? Then where have the crew gone – is he with them?"

            "I'm sorry, miss, but I en't authorized to tell ye that."

            I nodded and sheathed my sword; the boy's face relaxed considerably.

            "Of course you're not," I said, "But perhaps that is someone else that is. Could you be persuaded to tell me their whereabouts?"

            As I was talking I picked up my knapsack again and took out my change purse with the idea of bribing him into telling me something useful. But at that moment his round eyes seemed to clear, and he looked at me closely, scrutinizing my face.

            "Miss Abigail?" he asked uncertainly.

            I froze.

            "Who are you?" I demanded.

            "Only a sailor, ma'am," he said, "But I saw them take you aboard those months ago. You're the one they're looking for."

            I looked at him hard; he was fidgety and hopelessly nervous, but his gaze on me didn't alter. He was telling the truth. Slowly I moved closer to him.

            "What's your name, boy?"

            "Eric," he said, "Eric Lindon, ma'am."

            "Well, Eric, I need to know where Covington is. If he's looking for me, surely you can permit yourself to tell me where he is."

            "I would, only. . ."

            He shrugged indefinitely; something other than his duties was holding him in silence.

            "Go on," I said gently, "I'm in no hurry."

            Eric glanced away from me and shifted his weight back and forth; I wished I could make this forced confession easier for him.

            "It's difficult, miss," he said finally, "I en't rightly sure how to tell ye."

            "Don't worry about that," I told him as comfortingly as I could, "Just tell me the truth."

            "You don't understand, miss – he means to take you to the gallows."

            My mouth dropped open; I hadn't been expecting that. Was I to be hanged? My hand went to my throat as I tried not to imagine the sensation of a noose clasped around it.

            "The gallows?" I repeated weakly.

            "Aye miss," said Eric, "I can't tell the truth of the matter myself, but he's been tellin' folk that you're a witch. His intention is to have you arrested and hanged."

            I felt my legs weakening; I went over to the side of ship and grabbed hold of the gunwale to steady myself. This was an even more perfect catastrophe than I had envisioned. I, a witch? What on earth could have given him that idea? I concentrated on slowing my breath as the image of the noose continued to haunt my mind. Eric's wide eyes darted rabbit-like to the left and right, and then he approached me gingerly.

            "Listen, miss," he said, "I haven't a clue what's got in Covington's head to make him think you're a witch, but if I were you I'd make myself scarce, and quickly. He en't right in the head these days, if you know what I mean, and I'd not like to be the one he was comin' after."

            I took a deep breath and straightened myself, nodding slowly.

            "Well," I said, "I appreciate your concern, Master Lindon. I don't know how he came by that notion either, but there's no helping it now. Thank you – you have been most helpful."

            I fished a shilling out of my change purse and handed it to him. He gave me a conspiratorial grin, and then turned and walked back down the gangway the way he had come. I myself found it difficult to move for a moment or two. I rubbed at my neck, noting how remarkably tender the skin was, and wondering how I could have failed to notice that before. But something had to be done; it would do me no good to stand in one spot feeling sorry for myself. So I breathed deep, took up my knapsack again, and headed back for the tavern where I'd left Will and Elizabeth.


	17. Announcement!

Announcement: First, this is *not* an update. (Just didn't want to get anybody's hopes up. Sorry!) But this is important: As many of you have probably noticed, I've hit a road block of sorts with this story. (Writer's block – it sucks.) Believe me, I want to see this thing finished as much as you guys. But I just can't do much until inspiration strikes again.

However, as you may or may not be aware of, I do have another story on this website that has been getting very little attention lately, probably due to the Pirates fanaticism that's been hitting the globe since July. This other story is called "The Peacemaker" and it's a crossover story between _Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter_ and _The__ Ring. I'm only bringing this up because I started that one a long, long time ago and left it hanging even longer than I've left this one as of right now, and now that I'm finally getting into it again, most of my old readers seem to have forgotten it. Also, I noticed that quite a few of you are in those fandoms too – I would send out a mass e-mail (which I will do to all the folks on my mailing list) but I don't want to leave out those of you that have your addresses hidden. (You know who you are.) So, please check it out if you want to see more of my writing. It's much spookier than this one (just because it involves __The Ring) but I think some of you might enjoy it._

Now, I don't want to give the impression that I'm leaving this story entirely – that's not the case, believe me. I will finish it, but I don't know how long it's going to be before that happens. So, so sorry for the lack of updates – hopefully I'll get inspired again if I get the Pirates DVD for Christmas. But in the meantime, feel free to check out "The Peacemaker," especially if you're a fan of Legolas (hint, hint).

-- Arwen Tinuviel

P.S.

This is just if you're new to the site (which most of you aren't, I'm sure) but you can get the links to my other stories by clicking on my name at the top of the page.


	18. The Opportune Moment

Author's Note: Yes, it has been an unforgivably long time, but now this chapter is finished. And it's upwards of 3000 words this time, so I hope it'll be worth it. (Lots more action than the last one.) It does end kind of strangely, but the next update will not take nearly as long. I promise it won't – like a week at most. But this is the pivotal chapter in my story, so hopefully it will be more worthwhile than the last one. Happy New Year everyone!

Chapter 15: The Opportune Moment

            "A _witch?" asked Elizabeth incredulously, "Where on earth did he get that idea?"_

            The three of us were seated at a small table in the back of the tavern, where we could speak freely without being overheard.

            "I'm not sure," I said, "I wonder if he really believes it, or if he's just using that threat to make the lawmen hunt for me?"

            "That's a fair question," said Will thoughtfully, "Perhaps it's all just a ruse – I doubt he would really think that, knowing you as well as he does."

            "He doesn't know me well at all," I protested.

            But of course that was beside the point. I was now being hunted by more than just Covington: lawmen were after me, men whose faces I didn't know, and worse I was on an island I'd never been to before where I wouldn't know where to go to avoid them. That very evening I snuck aboard the ship again, this time in search of Eric. I found him curled up sleeping next to one of the massive coils of line just inside the hull. I knelt down next to him and prodded him gingerly. He started, his wide eyes popping open in shock, but when he saw my face he relaxed again, if only a little.

            "Is something wrong, Miss Abigail?" he asked warily.

            "Nothing apart from what you told me this morning," I answered, "But I need you to tell me where Covington has gone. You need not worry about your position – your superiors will never know I was here. Now tell me where I might find him."

            Eric protested, insisting that I ought to leave the island and escape Covington's grasp while I still could. But in one or two slips he made reference to a place where he was most adamant that I not go, and so I knew that it was there that I could find my accuser. I thanked him for his time, and left the ship once more.

            On my way to the place Eric had implied, I found myself musing on the idea of my being a witch. A witch! Who would have guessed it? Covington would have more luck sending out a search for a pirate, certainly. But then I recalled the last time I had seen him, the night he had threatened me. The look of shocked cowardice came back to me, and I saw his face before me, frightened and frozen, as if he was caught in a spell. And then I understood: he _did believe. Elizabeth was right; he _had _thought up another story to believe, and it had nothing to do with the real truth of the matter. Of course I was a witch; there was no way he could allow himself or others to believe that he had been cowed into submission by a woman, and so there was no other explanation than that I had bewitched him. It was so ludicrous, and yet so simple. In fact, the more I thought about it the more I saw the plainness in this twisted logic. I _must_ have bewitched him into letting me get away; how else could he have let such a thing happen? It made perfect sense. And then I began to panic._

            But there was no time for that now – I had reached the building, an inn. It was built like a large tavern, but it had a slightly more aristocratic air about it. Perhaps it was the shape of the iron grates that held the candles lining the doorway in front, or perhaps it was the gilded frames around the windows, but it definitely set itself apart as an important building. I looked up; there, at the edge of one of the windows, but a small ledge that probably wouldn't hold the weight of a grown man, but perhaps a young girl such as myself. It would be risky to try it, but I had to get inside the building somehow, and something told me barging straight through the front door was not the best way to go about it. Just beside the window was a drainpipe that I could use for leverage, and the logs that held the building together were roughly-cut enough for me to climb. But there was that ledge to think about; what if I was wrong about the weight? I gazed up at it for several moments, my heart pounding at the imagined sensation of falling from such a height. I glanced to my left and then my right, just to ensure that no one was watching and then resolutely tossed my knapsack up onto the window ledge. There; now I had no choice but to follow it.

            I latched onto the sturdy woodwork and began climbing. I hadn't far to go, but I reminded myself not to look down; instead I fixed my gaze on my destination, only parting with it to find my next hold. The wood was a little slick from a recent shower, and gave under my weight just a bit, but I held on. I had to keep moving – that was the only way to ensure that I wouldn't fall. When I reached the window I grabbed onto the drainpipe to push myself onto the narrow ledge, only praying it was sturdy enough to hold me. The wood creaked as I crept on top of it; I reached up to grab the edge of the surrounding frame, willing the ledge to support me for just a little while longer. I picked up the knapsack again with my other hand and slung it over my head. The window was cracked open; I fitted my fingers under the crack and grasped the bottom frame. Before opening it I bent my head close to the crack, listening to see if I could determine what was happening inside. I heard low, rushed voices, mostly that I didn't recognize, but Covington's pretentious drawl was among them. I leaned in closer to the window, trying to make out what was being said.

            "But sir," said one, "You've no idea who you're dealing with – how will you persuade Sparrow to bargain with you when you've nothing to offer him?"

            "I don't care," that was Covington, "She is on that ship, and I will find it. Where is it docked?"

            "Last seen out at Tortuga, sir," said another voice, "But we can't go there – it'll be useless to even try."

            "And why is that, my good man?"

            "The place is teeming with pirates – they'll never give up the—"

            "Pirates are naught but thieves and scoundrels. If my offering is sufficient, I'm sure they will give up anything I ask."

            Suddenly my foot slipped off the ledge. I gasped, grabbing onto the frame of the window with both hands. I tried to heave myself back up with my other leg, but the wood was creaking and beginning to give. I bit my lower lip hard to keep from crying out in frustration; this was no time to give in to panic. I had to think quickly, and not lose my head.

            _Come on Abby, I instructed myself firmly, _Just___ think: how can you get yourself in that window?_

            I held very still to keep the ledge from breaking off entirely, digging into the window frame with my fingernails. Slowly I let go with one hand and reached up to the top of the frame, pulling myself up by my arm. Gradually I reached up my other hand and pulled myself further up, then I stuck my foot – the one that had slipped – under the crack at the bottom. Clinging tightly to the window frame, I slid the window open with my foot and quietly swung myself inside.

            I hit the floor the minute I was inside and pulled the window back down. I crouched close the floor, trying to get a handle on my surroundings: I was on a little balcony that was evidently part of a storage room on the left. I moved behind an overturned table and peeked around the side, to the ground floor some distance below me. Three men were grouped around a table in the very middle of the room, evidently still carrying on the discussion I'd heard snatches of outside. I was anxious to hear more, only because I was quite sure the topic of conversation was me, but suddenly the man with his back to me stood up and yelled at the others to start moving. Startled, the two men rose and headed for the door with somewhat blank expressions. The first man stood with his head low, breathing rapidly from his outburst, both hands clutching the side of the table.

            Now this was interesting. I knew well who the man was – who else could it be? And I was anxious to exact me revenge on him. Could it be that he was now alone, or so seeming, in an inn with hardly any windows, having just sent away his only allies? I felt a drop on my shoulder and looked up; the roof was leaking in the spot just over me. And then a faint clap of thunder.

            _A storm, I mused, __It__ would be difficult to hear very well from outside. . ._

            That decided me. I spotted a coil of old rope a little way to my right. If I could tie it to the banister of the balcony, I might be able to swing down and land just behind him. What a face he would make, seeing his long-lost fiancé mere inches away from him if he just happened to turn his head! I laughed inwardly, and crept over to the coil. I glanced down to the ground, quickly estimating how much rope I would need, and unwound the appropriate length, cutting off what I didn't need with my ivory knife. I looped one end around the banister, tying it tightly, and, watching Covington to make sure he hadn't moved, stepped over the banister and prepared to swing. I gripped the rope in my hands, took a deep breath, and hopped off the balcony. The rope swung me out for half a second, but then a heard a sickening snapping sound and it broke it two. I gasped sharply, bracing myself for the fall, and hit the ground with a dull thunk.

            I scrambled back to my feet, my heart pounding both from the impact of the fall and a keen sense of embarrassment. Covington was still glancing around like a frightened rabbit; he hadn't yet figured out which direction the sound had come from. His distraction gave me just enough time to catch my breath, straighten my hair and skirt, and finally restore my dignity. And then he turned. His wild, pallid gaze came to rest on me. I was not frightened in the least. I couldn't stop the grin that came over my face; his anxiety was so deeply satisfying. I came forward slowly.

            "Hello again, Germaine," I said icily, "Did you miss me as much the second time?"

            "Come no closer," he panted, gripping the edge of the table behind him, "I'm warning you—"

            "What? Will you call for help? There's no one here but you and I, darling."

            His gaze sharpened; he didn't like these sorts of games. I was taunting him, and he was backed up against the table acting quite the terrified victim. He'd done this sort of thing often, but with the roles reversed; having the tables turned on him was a cruel blow indeed. He straightened himself angrily. I stopped.

            "You will not speak to me in such a way, girl," he said coldly, "Witch or no, I will be shown the respect I deserve."

            I glared at him.

            "I'm not a witch," I said evenly, "You just made that story up so you wouldn't have to admit I outwitted you."

            Now he began moving forward.

            "If you're referring to your last brilliant escape," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I realized the truth about you long before then. My suspicions first arose when you rejected suitor after suitor – no well-bred girl remains unmarried for four long years after her sixteenth birthday. I began to realize that you must have plans in your head in which no man could take part – dark plans of treachery and betrayal, I was certain. My suspicions were confirmed when you boarded that brigand's ship – I knew you would make your way here, to the West, where you could practice your dark arts under the protection of a lawless country."

            "Then why did you come after me?"

            "I had a mind to save you, to right whatever wrongs you had committed – and of course, I acted as though I was ignorant of you secret, because I knew you would only plot to escape again – or worse, murder me in my sleep – if you knew that I knew."

            _Perhaps I should have, I thought angrily. He was very close now, and I was trembling with fury. He glanced down, at my gold ring._

            "Of course," he said matter-of-factly, "I suppose I should have realized the truth much earlier on. Roland told me how badly you wanted to go to that dinner party – this was what, thirteen years ago now?"

            I felt the blood drain from my cheeks.

            "Yes," said Covington, clearly satisfied, "That sounds about right. Of course I don't know whether you truly meant to kill them – you were only a child, after all – but that fire was so mysterious, so unbelievable that—"

            He stopped short just in time to block me as I brought my sword down over his head. I couldn't hold myself back any longer; threatening me was one thing, but there was no way I was going to let him use my parents' memory against me. Our swords were locked above our heads, and Covington's manic stare met mine with a keen, unsettling satisfaction.

            "So," he said quietly, "It appears the little witch has a weakness after all. Tell me, how exactly did you manage it? Did you send a spy inside the mansion, with some enchantment of your own making?"

            I let out a cry of frustration and anguish, thrusting out my blade and forcing him to stagger backward. This time I didn't wait for him to taunt me again. I brought the sword up and swung it wildly, striking at any part of him that seemed unprotected. But he was too quick; he blocked me easily and knocked the sword from my hand. I fell backward and found myself flat on the ground. Covington's sword gleamed above me, the point fixed at my throat just under the chin. He smiled.

            "Not so mighty now, are we?" he taunted callously, "But I will not have you die in this way. Oh no – it's the gallows for you, witch. Nothing else would suit you."

            I stared at him, amazed.

            "On your feet," he said calmly.

            "I will not take orders from you," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

            He laughed.

            "Oh, is that so?" he asked, "Then, who did you intend to take orders from in my stead? As you yourself pointed out so cleverly, there is no one here but you and I. Get up. This fight is over, and the victory is mine."

            But then a look of nervous confusion shadowed his gaunt face; a strangely familiar blade had positioned itself at Covington's white throat.

            "I wouldn't make assumptions so quickly if I were you," said an easy drawl.

            "Jack!" I breathed.

            He nodded down at me, grinning triumphantly.

            "You didn't honestly think I was going to sit this one out, did you?"

            I laughed weakly, but I was vaguely annoyed with him for coming to my rescue.

            "No," I answered, "But this is still my fight, Jack. Not yours."

            "My apologies, darling -- it appeared to me that you were on the verge of losing. My mistake. Shall I leave you to it then?"

            He backed away quite suddenly, removing his sword from Covington's neck. I knocked Covington's sword away with my bare hands, and sprang back to my feet. Covington's momentary shock at Jack's appearance allowed my just enough to retrieve my own sword, but he came at me more forcefully than ever when he recovered. I blocked him blow for blow, this time with Jack shouting instructions at me from some distance.

            "His forward thrust, is weak, Abby," he told me, "Don't waste your time parrying."

            I obeyed, and blocked Covington with such force that his blade cracked; there was a large dent in the sword where I had met it. But he was listening too. He soon discovered that my greatest weakness was blocking from the left. He swung at me from that direction, almost the instant I put up my sword he knocked it away from me again. This time, however, I remembered my dagger. Not a second passed before I drew it out and brought it forward.

            At first I didn't understand what had happened. Why wouldn't my arm move? I had just pulled the knife out, and now it was stuck fast. I looked down at my hand; the arm was still bent, poised just as it had been when I had raised it. The ivory handle was still tightly clutched inside my hand, but it felt strange. There was something hot and sticky seeping into it, discoloring the cracks in the carved ivory. Just beyond the handle was something soft – a piece of white fabric. A shirt, maybe. The dull clang of metal hitting the wood floor broke through the heavy quiet and Covington staggered away from me. I drew the knife out again. The silvery blade was dripping. I couldn't take my eyes off the knife. I turned it over in my hand, watching the deep red trickle down the handle. Then I realized the blood was on my hands. I inhaled sharply and the knife clattered to the ground. I looked up. Covington had fallen against the wall, both hands covering the red spot on his chest that grew slowly larger every moment. His hate-filled eyes met mine only once more.

            "You will pay for this, witch," he gasped, and then he slumped to the floor.

            I felt sick. I held both hands outward, away from the rest of me; I couldn't let the blood touch me. I found myself trying to back away from it, even though my hands followed me. I began choking on my own breath; the smell of it invaded my senses no matter where I turned. I heard Jack's voice calling to me from some distance, but I couldn't answer him. Suddenly the floor rushed up towards me, and then there was nothing.


	19. The Open Ocean

Author's Note: Ta-da! This is the end – the final chapter! Oooh, I'm so excited – this is the first fanfic I've ever actually finished! Sorry for rambling, but this is kind of a big step for me. Thanks so much to everyone for sticking with me, through the long dry spells and crazy melodrama. Here's to Pirate-Lovers everywhere – take what you can, and give nothin' back! (And now I'm really done rambling.) Please R&R!

Chapter 16: The Open Ocean

            I awoke in the sand, some distance from a small rowboat that bobbed and floated peacefully at the water's edge. It was dark still. A great ship was anchored further out in the sea; I had seen it before, but I couldn't quite remember where. I sat up slowly. 

            "Ah, she stirs," said a soft voice at my shoulder.

            I turned; there was Jack, his black eyes glinting in the moonlight. He smiled.

            "I killed him," I muttered, "I killed Covington."

            The simplicity of language baffled me; it was so easy to say the words, but I still couldn't take in what had really happened. I wondered uneasily how long it would take for the knowledge of what I'd done to sink in. I glanced down at my hands, but they were clean.

            "Yes," said Jack, nodding, "You were very brave."

            "No!" I protested, stiffening, "I didn't mean to do it – I didn't want to."

            "You did intend to fight him, did you not?"

            "Yes. . ."

            "Well, how exactly did you expect the fight to end? You would have been killed instead, had Covington been the victor."

            "But I struck the first blow, Jack."

            And then I began to feel again; the horror of it came down on me as I realized what I had done. I had broken a promise.

            "I struck him first," I repeated weakly, my voice quivering, "I told Elizabeth that I wouldn't, but I did."

            Once again I saw the blood on my hands, and involuntarily I began to shake as a cruel, small voice inside my head whispered, _murderer_.

            "Abby," Jack chided gently.

            "You don't understand," I said.

            I turned away from him as my eyes filled.

            "I've never taken a life before," I said unsteadily, "And I never wanted to. I only wanted to be left alone. I know this could not have ended any other way – I know that now. But – oh, Jack! Why didn't you tell me? Is it so easy for you to watch a man die?"

            I looked up at him. His face was blurry through my tears, but deep in his eyes was a look of distant sorrow and regret that I had never seen before. He moved closer and clasped a heavy arm around my shoulders.

            "There was a time," he said, "Many, many long years ago when my own hands were as clean as yours were not six hours ago. At the time, I was of a mind to exact revenge on some obscenely wealthy evildoer or other – the details escape me – but when the deed was done, I was lost. I mourned for a man who deserved only the paltriest of sympathies even in life, when all the rest around me praised me for ridding the world of one who was not fit to walk among decent people. You, darling, have now rid the world of the same sort of fellow. You have done nothing worthy of shame; don't waste your tears on him."

            I sighed and rubbed at my eyes halfheartedly. Jack reached down and took my hand.

            "I don't want to be a murderer," I said.

            "You're not a murderer," he answered, "It was an act of self-defense, Abby. He had men hunting you with the intent of hanging you afterwards. You had no choice."

            I leaned back against his chest, staring up at the star-scattered sky. It would be morning soon; already the stark blackness of night was turning to a deep, velvety blue.

            "I can't go back, can I?" I asked.

            "No. You would not want to even if you could."

            He was right, of course; I had nothing to go back to. Whether I liked it or not, this life, the life of a fugitive, was the only one I knew now. My one crime would follow me forever, no matter what else happened. The blue-black of the sky paled to azure-grey, and the stars began disappearing under the blanket of approaching dawn. This looked familiar. I smiled.

            "Jack," I said, turning back to look at him.

            "Eh?"

            "Look at the sky – this is the way it looked when I first met you."

            Jack smiled, then kissed my forehead soundly. He pulled me to him, stroking my hair comfortingly. I draped an arm around his neck and closed my eyes, willing myself not to think of anything other than him, my love, and the moment. But there were more pressing matters that could not allow for too long a moment's peace.

            "Well!" said Jack, breathing a decisive sigh, "I suppose we ought to return to the Pearl. The others will be wanting to know that you're awake."

            I looked out towards the ship anchored some distance away from us; of course, by now I recognized it was the Black Pearl. Jack helped me stand and led me over to the little rowboat on the shore, taking up the oars himself. We rowed in silence for a short while as I tried to find words to the feeling of displacement I was experiencing.

            "I wish I knew what to do," I told him, "Now that it's all over."

            "Over?" Jack quipped, a strange grin twisting his weathered features, "Covington is dead, yes, but all that means is that your old life is gone forever."

            "And a new one has only just begun?"

            "Do you expect to die tomorrow? Of course it's only begun. Unless you decide to turn yourself in and have done with it."

            We reached the ship, and Jack's crew tossed a couple of lines down to us so they could haul us up. Jack moved across the deck, checking that everything was in order, and then strode to the helm and took the wheel. I stood at the edge of the bow, watching the deep blue waters slip past us as wind filled the sails. The sun was rising; a dazzling sheen of white-gold light, softened by the hazy skies, skimmed the water at the horizon. I was only partially conscious of the little green islands surrounding the ship; it seemed as if the entire ocean was before me, in all its undimmed glory.

            "The way I see it," said Jack suddenly, interrupting my vision, "You now have three choices."

            I turned back towards him.

            "First, I could take you back to Saint Thomas where you can confess, and accept the consequences of your actions," he continued, "Which will no doubt ease your guilt, but they will hang you for it. Second, you can do nothing and allow your one and only mistake to plague you until your death."

            "And third?"

            Jack smiled wryly.

            "Well," he said, "Therein lies the final secret. Care to take a guess, love?"

            His offer took me slightly by surprise, but of course I knew the answer. I had known it all along.

            "You didn't tell me everything," I said, "That night when you finally told me you loved me. You said that every pirate is constantly searching for one thing to make his lawless existence worthwhile, but you never said what compelled him to pursue that existence in the first place. It's not a choice – piracy is a necessity. A way of life that one is forced to take when all other options have disappeared."

            "Nay, it is a choice. Not only that, but it is a choice that only you, my dear Abigail, can make. However," he added pointedly, "Should you come to it, my own course takes me to the West Indies. I have some unfinished business, if you will, with an old friend. I have assembled my crew already, but there may yet be room for one more."

            I laughed, and Jack smiled at me warmly. A wave of emotion swept over me, and in that moment I loved him more than ever.

            "Jack," I said, "I have no home now. But now that I've lost it, it seems like it was never 'home' for me at all. I never belonged in England. I don't belong in the Americas either – I realize that now. I may never belong anywhere, really – at least not in any particular place. But I do belong with you."

            The pirate's dark eyes met mine steadily; our gazes locked for brief eternity. Slowly he smiled, and then held out his hand to me. I moved forward and took it. His rough fingers closed protectively around mine and he brought me to him, turning me around to face the wheel. He took both my hands and guided them to the proper places on the steering mechanism. I took hold of the wheel easily; the old, polished wood felt good and strong beneath my fingers. I smiled widely; the sun was higher in the sky now, a great yellow ball just touching the edge of the horizon. The view was complete and unobstructed before me: the ocean was mine. Jack put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed affectionately. His face bent down to my cheek and neck, kissing me softly over and over.

            "Find us an adventure," he whispered.

THE END


End file.
